


Nornir

by jikanet_tanaka



Category: Persona Series, Radiant Historia
Genre: F/M, Gen, Persona AU, Persona crossover, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2018-04-08 20:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 45,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4319841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jikanet_tanaka/pseuds/jikanet_tanaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'What the hell did that bastard get us into?' Stocke muttered to himself. He knew he wouldn't get the answer today, however—if he did get to have the answer at all. With a shrug, he followed after Eruca, not knowing that the invisible cogs of fate had slowly begun to grind to a start."</p><p>Radiant Historia/Persona crossover, or rather, RH's characters in a Persona AU of sort. Huge spoilers for the former (do not read if you haven't finished playing RH).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arcana 00 - The Fool

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Radiant Historia and the Persona series belong to Atlus.

_“The first card, numbered 0, is the Fool. It represents the beginning and suggests infinite possibilities.”_  
  
_Edogawa-sensei, Persona 3._

* * *

As usual, Eruca was up before the rest of her family.

She knew her brother was probably awake as well, but on weekends he was rarely out of his room before nine. Their mother, for her part, slept well past eleven on Saturday and Sunday mornings. She spent each Friday evening going out with her girlfriends, and she always came home in the middle of the night, dead drunk and in a stupidly good mood. The following mornings she was invariably afflicted by hellish hangovers, but, in her own words, this was nothing a good cup of coffee couldn't fix.

Still, Eruca didn't mind the lack of company. By 8 o'clock, she was dressed and ready to go to her weekly archery club practise, with one hour to spare. As she finished eating breakfast, she glanced at the pile of dishes stockpiled in the sink with a critical eye. With a sigh, she decided to head back to her room. She'd do the dishes after she'd come home from her practise (meaning: when Ernst or Mom would be up and about).

Eruca's cat Musket, a birthday gift from her mother, brother and uncle, was making little snores by the feet of her bed. Eruca kissed the soft white fuzz of the kitten's head, just in-between the adorable triangle-shaped ears, then gathered her laundry, stealing one last look at the mirror on her dresser to make sure her hair still looked presentable. She carefully balanced the basket on one hip as she descended the stairs, on tiptoes so she would not wake her mother; she nearly sent it all flying when the loud thrill of the doorbell rang out loud and clear.

Eruca gripped her laundry basket tighter, looking at the door with eyes as round as saucers. It was barely past 8, and a Saturday morning to boot. Who on Earth would think of visiting at such an hour?

Eruca put the basket on the floor and walked up to the door, uneasy. Her hand was barely touching the knob when the doorbell rang out again. Eruca ignored the startled jolt that rippled through her at the sound and pushed the door open.

The man who stood before her was rather tall, so much that she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze. Eruca stared at him for several long seconds, before recognition slowly started to sink in. The person she remembered always looked impeccable, with a neatly trimmed beard running alongside his jaw and a crooked smile worthy of a movie star. This was not the case with the man looming over her now. Instead of one of his numerous designer's suits, he was wearing a long and dirty rain coat, with a red cap casting shadows on his usually intense blue eyes. She scrunged up her nose at his smell and looked away. _What is_ he _doing here?_

"Father," Eruca managed to say. "Um..."

"Eruca." The man's arm snaked across the distance between them to grab Eruca's wrist. His other arm was holding a package wrapped in brown paper.  "Good. I was afraid that it would be your mother or worse, your..."

"You're not supposed to be here," Eruca said. Immediately, she thought of her brother, probably still in bed with no idea of what was going on. "I mean—"

Victor cut her off with a chuckle. "Oh, don't be a bore like your mother, sweetie. I'm not doing anything wrong, am I? A father is entitled to see his daughter once in a while, right?"

Eruca's lips thinned to a line, but she swallowed the obvious reply. Ernst would have had the guts to say it to his face.

"Why are you here?" she said instead, sighing. "You really shouldn't—"

"Eruca," Victor interrupted her again. He stepped closer to her, and Eruca evaded his gaze when his hand came to rest upon her shoulder. "There is a little something you can do for me, sweetie. Do you think you could help me?"

Before she could open her mouth to reply, he thrust the brown parcel in her arms.

Eruca blinked as she looked at the package in her hands. From the corner of her eyes, she could see her father smiling, but she couldn't find in herself the will to return his expression.

"Father, what is this?" she finally asked.

"Oh, nothing, really," Victor said. He shrugged. "I've been looking through your grandfather's stuff lately. You know how much junk the old man has left us."

"If it's just some junk, then why do you want me to look after it?"

Victor chuckled again. The sound grated at Eruca's ears.

"Always the curious one, are you?" From his tone, it seemed he hadn't meant it as a compliment. "Just keep an eye on it for a while. You don't even need to tell your mother. It won't be for long, trust me."

Eruca frowned. "I don't want any trouble. Don't you have friends who can help you?"

She immediately knew it hadn't been the thing to say.

Victor's smile froze, and his hand tightened around Eruca's shoulder. Eruca stared at her feet, miserable, knowing well what was next.

"Why is it always so hard to ask a little favour from you lot?" Her father's voice was dark with reproach. "It's not much. You wouldn't even be able to afford most of that fancy stuff," he motioned over to their house and Mom's car in the driveway, "if it wasn't for the money I have to send your mother. Really, I'm not asking for much in return."

Eruca only continued to examine the tip of her slippers. His hand was heavy on her shoulder. She felt the familiar sense of guilt creeping up on her. "Father, I... well, Mom says you're not even supposed to be here..."

"Eruca? Who's that you're talking to?"

Eruca's head shot up, her heart swelling, and she looked behind her. Indeed, as she had hoped, her brother was halfway through the stairs. His gaze went from sleepy to steel cold in the span of a heartbeat. It was amazing to see just how threatening Ernst could manage to look even in old torn-up pajamas and puppy-shaped slippers (a gift from their mother). Victor's hand slipped from Eruca's shoulder. She let out the breath she had been holding for the past minute.

"You. What are you doing here?" Ernst said as he slided over to Eruca’s side. To just about anyone his tone would have sounded rather neutral, but Eruca knew better.

Victor must have been aware of Ernst's anger as well—he _had_ to be. Still, he managed to school his lips into a smile. "Ah, Ernst, my boy, long time no see. I was having a little chat with your sister. It's been a while, isn't it? Is everything going well in your life? You're going to be a senior when the semester starts, aren't you?"

Ernst was clearly not interested in broaching the subject of school—or any other subject, it seemed. "You're not allowed to be here. Get lost."

Eruca bit down her lip. Already, she could see that their father had risen up to take up the bait.

"I don't remember your mother and I raising you to be so flippant," the man said in a growl. "Is it your uncle who taught you to be that insolent?"

"There's nothing wrong with the way Mom raised me," was all Ernst said. "Or with what Uncle taught me."

Victor flared his teeth, but in response Ernst only folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorframe, the perfect picture of the cheeky, bored teen. The red pajamas and slippers only completed the ensemble.

"I didn't take a flight halfway across the continent only to have my own son behave like the worst of brats," the man finally said. "Fine. I'll go."

"Yes," Ernst said. "Mom put us half a continent away from you for a reason. Have a nice trip back home." His eyes were two pools of blue-green ice.

Both of Victor's hands tightened into fists. Ernst raised a brow, and he stepped forward, putting himself between the man and Eruca. Victor took the hint; without another word he turned on his feet and stomped towards the wreck of a car he must have used to get here.

The two siblings waited before the red vehicle was well out of sight before they headed back inside.

"Good thing all this fuss didn't wake Mom up," Eruca said with a sigh. "She would have been _furious_..."

"And Uncle would have gone directly for the shotgun." A corner of Ernst's mouth quirked into one of these funny little half-smiles he was so prone to make. "What's that he's given you?"

"Oh, this?" Eruca wondered whether or not she should open the package. The whole matter just made her queasy. She shifted back and forth on her spot, unsure, before finally giving Ernst the brown parcel so he could inspect it. "I have no clue. He wanted us to look after it."

Ernst grunted and rolled his eyes. "Of course he did."

"What should we do?" Eruca asked. "I mean, what was all of this about? He was acting very strange."

Ernst raised a brow.

"I mean, stranger than usual," Eruca clarified.

"I can take care of this it if you want," Ernst said. "Just go get your things or else you'll be late for your practise."

"Oh! I'd completely forgotten about that!" Eruca hid her face in her hands, groaning. "Damn him! I'm going to be late!"

Ernst grinned that lazy grin of his, and he mussed up her hair. "Don't worry about it. I can drive you there."

Eruca squeezed his arm. "Oh, thank you, Ernst! I wouldn't have made it in time if I'd gone on my own!"

Ernst stayed under the doorway, brown parcel in hands, as he watched her run up the stairs. Now that she could not see him, he allowed himself a frown. The whole damned thing left him strangely uneasy.

"What the hell did that bastard get us into?" Stocke muttered to himself. He knew he wouldn't get the answer today, however—if he _did_ get to have the answer at all. With a shrug, he followed his sister, not knowing that the invisible cogs of fate had slowly begun to grind to a start.


	2. Arcana I - The Magician

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Persona series and Radiant Historia both belong to Atlus.

_"The next card, the Magician, represents action and initiative… but also immaturity."_

_Edogawa-sensei, Persona 3._

* * *

A screech pierced through the haziness of morning. Stocke groaned against his pillow, his arm shooting up to fight the source of the noise. His foe was an elusive one, and his hand failed to connect with its mark again and again despite his best efforts. Finally, with one decisive swipe, he hit his target, and the alarm clock went deathly silent. Stocke sighed. For a few moments, he considered throwing the damn thing against the wall.

Propping himself on one arm, Stocke peeked through the drapes on his window. The sky was a dark grey and the tree in front of his room was furiously whipping back and forth as rain poured outside. He buried his face into the pillow, sighing yet again. There was no time to set out for the bathroom, and so Stocke paused only to look at the door leading to his mother's bedroom; he noted with a bit of dry amusement that he could hear the dissonant melody of her snoring over the shrieks of her own alarm clock coming from her room. As usual, Sophia Stocke, attorney-at-law, was a hard one to rouse.

One look to the empty bed in the room next to hers told him it was not the case with his little sister. Of course, Stocke knew Eruca was already up and about. When he got to the top of the stairs, he could indeed hear the sound of the bacon sizzling on the stove and the chatter of the radio from below. Eruca, the ever-dutiful daughter, prepared breakfast for their little family every morning (not to mention their mother's much-sought first cup of coffee). Stocke was barely halfway through the stairs when the lovely aromas of Eruca's cooking floated up to his nostrils. His mouth watered at the delicious smells.

"Good morning, Ernst!" Eruca wore her new uniform not without some pride. The middle school they'd both attended was rather small and much less prestigious than St. Noah's, and so she had fretted all summer long about the start of the semester. "Did you sleep well?"

Stocke offered a shrug in response and made for the stove to help her. Eruca immediately began chattering about inconsequential things—she asked him how he slept, what he wanted for breakfast—which was rather unusual. As he flipped one pancake over, Stocke noticed she kept fiddling with the silver wristwatch Mom had given her for her last birthday. He gave her a fond look, although she didn't seem to notice. She was still nervous, Stocke surmised.

He was munching down a bit of bacon, frying pan in hands, when their mother finally came down the stairs, yawning her head off. She made straight for the cup of coffee Eruca had put on the table.

"Morning, Mom," said Stocke.

Sophia's reply was a plaintive groan. "Why, oh, why does he have to come and get you so early? Why did I think that was a good idea?"

The siblings glanced at one another, Eruca hiding a smile behind her hand.

"You could always have slept in a little more," Stocke said. "You're your own boss. You didn't have to get up the same time as us."

Sophia took a great gulp of coffee, then grimaced. "I had to. My only daughter's starting high school, after all." Her lower lip wobbled a little. "My baby! Starting high school!"

The tips of Eruca's ears went red and she tugged at the bracelet of her watch again. Stocke couldn't help but shake his head and smile.

The doorbell rang before any of them could place another word.

"Must be Uncle," Eruca said. "Go get the door, Ernst, I'll handle the cooking."

Sophia buried her face in her hands. " _Mmh_ ," she agreed feebly. "Get the door. Let her handle the cooking." She then slumped over the table.

Stocke sighed and walked up to the door, unable to summon much enthusiasm. He swung it open, and it was with the longest face imaginable that he greeted the man who was standing outside, umbrella in hands. He was a good head shorter than Stocke, with greying brown hair that stuck out everywhere and glasses that seemed about to slip off his rather long nose. The man's face broke into a grin, and he raised a hand in greetings.

"Good morning, neph—"

Stocke slammed the door in his face.

Eruca and Sophia both gave a gasp. Stocke drew his mouth into a thin line, let out another sigh and opened the door once more.

Uncle Heinrich was fuming on his spot. "You ingrate child! What was that all about?"

Stocke squinted down at the man. "You seemed too happy for someone who had us get up so early on a Monday morning. It's indecent."

Uncle scowled. The expression was oddly petulant and rather out of place on someone his age. "I'm doing this out of the goodwill of my heart, you know? You can always suffer the joys of public transport, if that's what you prefer."

Stocke wouldn't have minded taking the bus, but he kept that particular information to himself.

"Oh, stop it, you two," came a voice from behind. Sophia was soon at Stocke's side, her coffee mug still in hands. "Hello, Harry, dear. I do appreciate what you do for my babies." She directed a pointed glare in Stocke's direction. "Even if half of them clearly don't."

"I have to get my stuff," Stocke only said.

Sophia pinched his cheek. " _Oof_. Stop mumbling, sweetie. Try to articulate a little." She swatted his arm playfully. "So grumpy. So stand-offish. The girls are gonna pounce on you this year, I know it."

"Mom—"

"—if they haven't started already, that is."

" _Mom_ —"

Uncle Heinrich pushed his glasses up his nose. "Leave the poor boy alone, Sophie." He then said under his breath something that suspiciously sounded like, _'he's too young for that kind of things anyway'_.

"You guys!" Eruca called out from the kitchen. "We're going to be late!"

"She's right," Sophia said. "Scoot along, sweetie, go, go, go!" She pushed Stocke towards the stairs and the latter rushed to his room. He paused only to give a scratch to Eruca's cat Musket, who had greeted him upstairs with a little meow.

Stocke's grin dissipated at the sight of his room. He just hadn't found the time to tidy up the place lately. His school stuff had been left in a haphazard pile on his desk. Stocke glared at the stack of manuals and notebooks, and threw it all in his bag without any attempt to sort it out.

When he came back downstairs Stocke realized with mounting horror that his mother had whipped up a camera from somewhere. Before he could make his escape, Sophia had seized him by the scruff of the neck; she stuck him next to Eruca and gave an inhumanly high-pitched noise.

"Don't I get a picture?" was all she said. Her eyes were big and shiny. "The two of you, all dapper in your school uniforms?"

"Well..." Eruca began.

"Do we really have a choice?" Stocke said.

Sophia giggled like a little girl. Stocke glanced down at Eruca; his sister was the picture perfect of poise, but her eyes were a little glazed over.

"You two look so smart!" Sophia said. The camera flashed over and over. "Although, would it kill you to smile a little, Ernst?"

Stocke nodded gravely. This did prompt a little chuckle from Eruca.

"Fine, then, be a grouch," Sophia said. "I guess I should really let you go, now." She turned to Uncle and added in a conspiratorial whisper, "Don't worry, Harry, I'll make you some copies."

"I don't need any pictures," Uncle Heinrich said, eyes narrowing. "Why do you think I'd want any pictures?"

Stocke could only exchange a look with Eruca at so big of a lie. His office at work was littered with pictures of the two of them.

Sophia finally brought both of her children into a hug. "You take good care of my kids out there," were her parting words to Heinrich. "And you two have a wonderful day!" She gave a peck on the cheek to each sibling.

Soon, Stocke and Eruca followed their uncle as the man all but ran up to his car, muttering curses about the cold and the rain.

"At least she didn't cry this time," Stocke said as he opened the passenger door for Eruca, shielding her from the rain with the jacket of his uniform. "She cried the day I started high school, remember?"

Eruca laughed. "I remember." Her smile grew impish. "Uncle did too."

The man in question was already seated behind the wheel; they saw his head poke out of the car window. "I did _not_ ," he said, scowling. Eruca only chuckled louder in response.

"Don't worry, we'll never tell," Stocke said as he took place beside him.

"You better," Uncle Heinrich growled.

The car started up with a low purr, and Heinrich drove them out of the driveway without another word. Stocke had to squint to see up ahead; the rain was so intense he could barely make out the outlines of the other cars, only their headlights flashing in the gloom.

The weather only worsened when they got onto the boulevard that would lead them to downtown Alistel. Heinrich's scowl noticeably deepened, and his fingers began to drum against the steering wheel. The traffic was thicker than usual, the cars all but forced to a crawl. Stocke sighed, and rummaged through his bag for his headphones and portable music player. He frowned as he passed each of his textbooks. There was one he didn't recognize; the book was thick, with a rigid, intricate cover. A complex mosaic of gold lines—made of _real_ gold, Stocke was startled to find—were etched in the leather, and vivid green jewel-like objects were embossed at each of the four corners. Stocke stared at the thing, dumbfounded. _What in the world...?_

"I hope I'll fit in," Eruca was saying from the backseat. "Perhaps I should try to get on the school council?"

Heinrich grunted in response. He gave Stocke a surreptitious glance.

"You'll be fine," Stocke said at his uncle's prompting. "Keep a good attitude and no one's gonna bother you."

"You sure?"

"School council seems like a good idea," Stocke replied, shifting in his seat. He really was bad at this. "That, or join a club. It'll help break the ice, I guess."

"I see," Eruca said. She seemed halfway satisfied with Stocke's answer.

The car came at a stop. The red traffic light blazed ominously in the mist. Soon, it switched to green, and the droplets of rain scattered the vivid colour against the grey gloom. For a moment, Stocke's bored gaze followed the sparkles of green, his eyes settling somewhere over his uncle's shoulder.

He heard the other car before his eyes could even comprehend what was happening.

Tires screeched against wet asphalt. Stocke hadn't realized it, but his hands were gripping his uncle's arm, his fingernails digging into the fabric of the man's sleeves. A high-pitched scream tore through the air. Someone's arm encircled Stocke's form, and there was the shriek of metal being twisted and ripped apart.

A hot, thick liquid splattered in Stocke's face. His eyes and ears gave way afterwards. He was only aware of pain, pure, undiluted pain, before the nothingness finally came to claim him.

* * *

The ringing in his ears was the first thing Stocke noticed.

"...date of birth... so that'd make him thirty-nine and..."

"...any address? Phone numbers?"

"...what about the... found... yet?"

The voices were faint, almost too faint for Stocke to hear. His sight was blurry, and a glaring white light pulsated somewhere to his right. Something cold drizzled down his brow. Stocke grit his teeth together; with this seemingly simple movement came pain, at first diffuse and faint, but then it grew stronger, piercing at his chest with long, thin needles. Soon, his whole being was enveloped by a white-hot sense of burning. Muffled screams scraped at his throat. His chest heaved, his limbs shook. The effort tightened his throat, making it impossible for him to breathe.

"...the boy! He's come to his senses!"

Dark silhouettes stood out against the light. People were encircling him.

"How many... you see...?"

"...your name? Can you tell us...?"

Stocke thrashed in place. Something was binding him to the surface he was laying upon. Moans of pain filtered through his mouth.

Two oval blurs the colours of human skin were hovering over him. Their mouths were moving, red and white fissuring the flesh-coloured shapes. They began to move him towards the blinding light; the sounds of wheel scratching against the ground came to his ears. Stocke fought against the bindings that tied him down. The sounds of screams and of a long screech—tires scraping against the road—were blaring in his ears.

Voices came from his right. "Found it! Eruca Stocke-Heiss... age..."

"...fifteen? God... younger than my son... must have started school today..."

Stocke's vision was beginning to settle. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a long black bag being loaded on a stretcher. His heart began to thump painfully against his chest. To his right, a few human-shaped blurs were gathering around a dark item on another stretcher. A long pale thing—a human arm—hung out of the black bag. The silver wristwatch caught the glint of the morning sun, scattering bits of light everywhere.

Stocke's breath caught in his throat.

"...can you tell us your...?" the voice above him said. "...age? ...contact your parents..."

Stocke couldn't speak, couldn't draw another breath. He trembled from head to toes, the tremors sending waves of bitter pain to stiff, unresponsive limbs. He choked on his words. Something warm and thick bubbled out of his mouth instead. He tasted the bitter, coppery tang. A _thump-thump-thump_ pounded in his ears, nearly drowning the shrills that still rang within his eardrums. Liquid fire seemed to flow in his veins.

"...calm down! Calm down, kiddo!"

"Hold him down! Keep him still!"

White flames invaded Stocke's eyesight. Something was pressing down his thorax, perforating his lungs with needle-thin claws. Fire burned through his chest, and when he opened his mouth to scream, only blood invaded his mouth. With the last bit of air in his body, he managed to breathe out the names of the two who had been with him, the two who surely couldn't be—

And darkness swirled over him, devouring the harsh white light.

* * *

Stocke opened his eyes to a world of blue.

He was sitting on a plush velvet chair. Stocke's fingers brushed against the soft blue fabric, and he startled, almost as if he expected to find another texture under his fingertips. He swallowed a gulp of air—the movement was strangely painful—and looked to his surroundings.

The chair in which he was sitting appeared to be on a platform of some sort. Other platforms of grey slate floated in the void that surrounded him. The empty space itself wouldn't have been strange to his eyes—it appeared to be a starry sky of some sort— _except_ a starry sky wouldn't be so intense of a blue. The hue was electric, and so bright it was almost painful to look at it.

"What the hell?" Stocke managed to say, rubbing sore eyes with his knuckles. "Where am I?"

"You, dear boy, are in the Velvet Room," a voice came from in front of him.

With a start, Stocke whipped his head towards the voice. A table stood only a few paces away from his chair—how had he not noticed before? Behind the table, Stocke counted three people with long, pointed ears. The two children who stood at each side of the table were dressed in robes the same shade of blue as the starry, alien sky. Their amber eyes were fixed on him in a way that was rather unnerving. Still, the strangest of the three was without a doubt the old man seated in the intricately carved wood chair just behind the desk. His bloodshot eyes bulged out of their sockets, but what was most eerie was his grin, showing two long rows of perfectly white teeth under a nose of impossible proportion. Stocke shrank back into his armchair, staring back at the man with suspicion and a bit of apprehension.

"Where are my manners?" the strange old man said with a chuckle. "I am Igor." One of his bony arms swept over, motioning to their strange surroundings. "And this is the Velvet Room. Welcome."

Stocke gripped the arms on his chair tighter. He kept his mouth shut.

"What is your name?" one of the children—the girl—said. Her light brown hair cascaded down her back. "What shall we call you?"

Stocke swallowed, glaring at the bizarre trio from under furrowed brows, and managed to croak, "Stocke. I'm Stocke."

The other child—the boy—pulled a parchment from thin air. "That won't be enough," he said. "We need your full name to complete the contract."

"Contract?" Stocke said in a hiss. He half-rose from his chair. "What's that about a contract?"

The old man gave a little laugh as the two children exchanged a look. Stocke grit his teeth together.

"Your use of the White Chronicle brought you to us," the girl said. "Still, before you can fully awaken to all of its potential, we need you to sign the contract. Otherwise, the Chronicle's powers will be nullified and you'll go back to your... unfortunate circumstances."

"What?" Stocke growled. "What Chronicle? What are you talking about? _Who_ the hell are you, anyway?"

"I am Igor," the old man said once more, his eerie eyes never blinking. "My master has tasked me to help people in situations such as yours. And my two young companions are the twins Lippti," he gestured to the girl, who gave a slight bow, "and Teo." The boy just continued to stare at Stocke without so much a change in his expression. "Their masters have graciously lent me their services."

This time, Stocke did jump to his feet. His head swam, and his heartbeat rose to an alarming rate, but he couldn't find in himself the will to care. "What's that suppose to mean to me? Where am I? Why am I here? What's that about a contract?" Another question burned at his tongue, but he couldn't find the strength to say it aloud. Something had happened a mere moment ago – the memories of the event hovered at the edge of his mind, making cold sweat trickle down his brow—and someone had been there with him. Who was it? And where were they now? Stocke clutched at his chest—his heart seemed about to burst out of his ribcage.

"You don't know?" the girl called Lippti said, blinking. At the very same time her brother said in a decidedly more deadpan tone, "...he doesn't know."

"Well," Lippti started once more, hesitating. She turned to the old man; his face-splitting grin had dissipated. Instead, he seemed lost in thoughts – somber, even. He steepled his hands together in front of his mouth, frowning.

"There is no gentle way for us to break the news to you," the man called Igor said. "You, my boy, are, well, _dead_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: I have no idea how to write Igor. Dude's awesome, but...
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! (and personal thanks go to quicksilver-ink for betaing this chap).


	3. Arcana II - The Priestess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Radiant Historia and the Persona series belong to Atlus.

_"The silent voice within one's heart whispers the most profound wisdom."_

_Nyx Avatar Persona 3._

* * *

Stocke was dreaming. There was no possible other explanation.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he said through grit teeth. The old man and the strange two children did not answer. "I'm not dead. Do I look dead to you lot?"

"Your physical body isn't currently with us," the boy called Teo said. "Only what you could call your spirit can enter the Velvet Room."

"So this _is_ a dream, then," Stocke said. He balled his hands into fist and drew a painful breath. Everything _hurt_ so much.

The two children evaded his gaze, but the old man continued to stare. He shook his head, the lower half of his face hidden by his steepled hands.

"Yes and no," said Igor. "This place exists between dream and reality, mind and matter. Your spirit still exists—it is why you can be here to speak with us—but your body will soon be gone if you do not act soon."

" _What?_ " Stocke's head was swimming. His legs were shaking, his hands were clammy. "How could this be? Just… what _happened?_ " His stomach twisted when he realized he didn't exactly want to know the answer.

The girl twin—Lippti—sighed. "Please, sit down, Stocke," she said. "This will not be easy. Try to remember. Take all the time you need." Her voice was gentle, as if she was talking to a young child. Stocke felt cold all over.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, no, _no…_ "

Stocke's legs were suddenly unable to support his weight. He fell back into the chair, burying his face into his hands. The sweat pooled under his bangs, and poured into his eyes, making them burn. An invisible hand crushed his torso; he could feel his heart struggling and beating madly against his chest, like an animal trying to escape the grip of a beast of prey. Stocke squeezed his eyes shut and counted from one to ten, as his mother had taught him, way back when, but he could not still his heart, could not force the air into his lungs. He coughed and hacked and choked, opening his eyes only to see the world in front of him blurring into blotches of electric blue and slate grey.

"There… there was a car coming and—" Stocke remembered blood spraying on his face and a glint of silver on a long, pale arm. "It hit us. It… it _crushed_ Uncle right on the spot." Stocke fought to keep the bile from rising to his mouth. _Uncle's dead_. Overbearing, neurotic Uncle Heinrich, who nevertheless always kept an eye out for his nephew and…

"…and Eruca, _she_ —" A long hiss escaped Stocke's mouth as the images flicked through his mind. Spots of black appeared in his vision. Stocke fumbled to loosen his collar, starving for air. The tips of his fingers were starting to tingle; his heart couldn't pump the blood fast enough.

"Stocke!" he heard the girl's frantic voice. "Look at me, Stocke! Look at me!" Stocke startled out of his daze, only now realizing that the girl was standing in front of him, her face inches away. "Look into my eyes and listen to my voice." Stocke swallowed—the action was painful, torturous even—and nodded. With great effort, he met her gaze. The bright golden shade of her eyes was even more striking from this distance. "Breathe, Stocke. Just breathe."

A memory resurfaced in Stocke's mind. His mother, holding his face with both hands, her green eyes soft and loving. _Breathe, sweetie, breathe. Don't think of anything else._ Stocke remembered how his child self had brought his covers up to his chin and leaned back into the bed—the big oak bed he had back in Granorg, not the small cramped thing he had now—before closing his eyes. _Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale._ Stocke had focused all of his attention on her voice and the warmth of her hands. Not long after, he had stopped shaking. _See? It's not that hard, isn't it?_

It was not so easy this time. With every breath, the terrible weight pressed down a little more on his chest, crushing both heart and lungs. Tears stung his eyes; still, he kept his gaze focused on the girl in front of him. Finally, he managed to gulp down a mouthful of air. His body gave a great shudder as the oxygen flowed through his blood. The invisible hand constricting Stocke's insides slowly loosened its grip, and he sank back into the velvet chair, panting. In a blink, the girl was back at her master's side again.

"So," Stocke said after a moment of silent contemplation, "my sister and uncle are dead. So am I. Where do this leave me? Is this..." He motioned at his bizarre surroundings, " _purgatory?_ "

Igor chuckled. "Of course not. The fact that your spirit is here means that you've yet to begin your journey to the world of the dead."

"What you have now," the boy Teo said, "is a choice. Follow the natural course of the universe and join the souls of your predecessors in the afterlife, or…" The strange boy produced the piece of parchment he'd shown Stocke before. "You sign the contract and the Chronicle takes you back to before the unfortunate event that sent you here."

Stocke glared at the boy. 'Unfortunate event' would not be the terms he would use to describe the accident that had slaughtered half of his family. "How is that possible?" he said. "What's the catch?"

"The White Chronicle has limited power over time," Teo said. "That's all you need to know. And since you had the book in your possession when the accident happened—"

"The book?" Stocke interrupted him. "What book?"

"The book," Teo replied in a deadpan tone. "The White Chronicle. You had it in your bag. You… really had no idea, did you?"

"I…" Stocke racked his brain trying to recall. "Wait… I remember. There _was_ a book. This big, thick book, in my bag, with my things. Where did it come from?" His eyes widened when the answer finally came to him. "Dad. It came from the parcel Dad dumped on us. I remember just throwing it on my desk after I'd opened it. It must have gotten mixed up with all of my school things. I'd forgotten." Groaning, Stocke rubbed the bridge of his nose. "That _ass_. Just what the hell is he playing at?"

"That, we don't know," Lippti said. "Do you know how your father could have gotten his hands on the Chronicle?"

"No," Stocke spat. "Though I'd love to get my hands on him to get him to talk." He sighed. "I guess for once his meddling helped in a way, since…" Stocke swallowed, his chest clenching painfully again.

"This gives you a chance to escape death," Teo said.

Stocke gave a little shake of his head, so imperceptibly he wasn't sure the old man and the children could have noticed. This wasn't what he had in mind. _If I go back, then Eruca and Uncle might_ —

"So, then," Stocke said, folding his arms, "what are your conditions? What do you want me to do?"

Igor laughed again, while the children exchanged a look.

"We have not said anything about conditions," Lippti said.

"Well, this is a contract," Stocke retorted. "There's always some fine print. You want me to do something for you, and in exchange…" _My family gets to live again._ The screech of metal twisting and the sound of Eruca's scream tore through his head. The memories were so vivid they almost forced the air out of his lungs again.

"It's good to see that we are on the same page," Teo said. "Yes, indeed, you can assist us." He glanced at his sister from across the desk; she sighed and nodded. "There is another book. The Black Chronicle, it is called. We suspect it's fallen into the wrong hands."

"You want me to find this other book," Stocke said. "And something tells me whoever's got it won't give it up so easily."

"We do not know who it is," Lippti said, "but he or she is operating not far from where you live." Her mouth tightened into a line. "And their attempts to uncover the secrets of the Black Chronicle are endangering the people in your town, although they do not seem to be aware."

"More likely, they simply do not care," Teo said.

"Endangering?" Stocke raised a brow. "How so?"

"It will be easier for you to understand if you see it with your own eyes rather than hear it from our lips," said Lippti. "Please trust our words on this."

Stocke closed his eyes and bit down a snarky retort. _Right. It's not like I have much room to argue anyway._

"Alright. Give me that paper." Stocke had barely finished speaking when the parchment floated back to him. A lovely quill materialized in his hand. Stocke gave the two children a last scowl before turning back his attention to the contract. A quick read-over told him neither the twins nor the old man seemed to be lying about what it contained. He reluctantly put quill to paper and signed his name.

"There. It's done." Stocke got out of the chair. "I'll help you. Now, send me back."

"It shall be done," Igor said, his uncanny smile spanning pointy ear to pointy ear. "I wish you luck on your quest."

"You can always come back to us through your dreams, if you need it so," Lippti said. "We will be happy to assist you."

"Keep your eyes and ears open," her brother said. "Strange occurrences lead to rumours and gossip that will surely find their way back to you."

"And listen to the voice of your intuition," Lippti continued. "It will know how to deal with the foes you will face."

"Foes?" Stocke said. "What foes?"

The twins did not answer. Before Stocke's eyes, the Velvet Room twisted into eerie shapes, a white fog appearing at the edges of Stocke's vision.

"Wait!" he called out. "What foes?" The fog filled everything. All Stocke could now hear was Igor's delighted chuckles fading in the distance.

"I have to know! What do you mean by—"

* * *

"—foes— _ooof!_ "

Stocke had suddenly reached forward, but rather than the hard slate floor of the Velvet Room, his feet only met with a bundle of something soft. It tangled around his leg, and Stocke tumbled to the ground with a gasp.

"Ow. Dammit." Stocke rubbed his head, wincing. He blinked once, twice, and realized with a start that he knew very well the plush carpet on which he was sprawled. Stocke snapped his gaze upward, towards the source of a loud ringing sound. _My alarm clock._ Next to a rather familiar bed was a large window; through the curtains, Stocke could spy grey clouds hanging low in the sky. He stumbled to his feet and staggered to his desk, where his found his calendar among the piles of books and other school supplies. He gave a gasp when he read the date. _First day of school._ Were the twins and the old man and that bizarre place real? Or was it just all an elaborate dream?

"Ernst!" he heard someone call his name. The sounds of footsteps were coming from outside his room. "Ernst, sweetie, what happened? Did you fall out of bed?"

Stocke whirled on his feet. His mother was standing by the doorway, rubbing her eyes.

"You made such a ruckus," she said, yawning. "You woke me up."

Stocke did not answer as he rushed out of the room. He was about to descend the stairs when he heard a familiar voice humming from the kitchen, down below.

"Even if you forget me someday," the girl was singing, "I'll embrace you forever. And even if I want to cry, I'll smile and weave a melody with the wind."

Stocke gripped the railings of the staircase so tightly his knuckles turned white. Before he could gather his thoughts he was racing down the stairs, heart beating madly against his ribcage. He had but one glimpse of a blonde girl clad in blue before his foot caught in the corner of the last step. Stocke saw Eruca turning towards him as he fell...

When he regained consciousness, two pale faces were hovering over him.

"Oh my goodness!" Sophia cried out. She brought Stocke against her chest and squeezed and squeezed. Stocke was too dazzled to attempt to escape her embrace. "Ernst, are you alright? You gave us quite the scare!"

Stocke realized dimly that someone was holding one of his hands. He disentangled himself from his mother's hug to see who it was. His heart skipped a beat when his gaze was met by Eruca's teary blue eyes. _It was just a dream_ , he told himself. _Just a stupid nightmare._ Yet, it seemed his body thought otherwise.

"You…" Eruca began, "you just fell from the stairs! I was so frightened! I thought you'd hit your head, but…"

Sophia gingerly patted Stocke's brow. "It seems not. Thanks goodness!"

"How long have I been out?" Stocke croaked.

"Just a few seconds, really," Eruca said. "Mom was about to call an ambulance."

"Won't be necessary. I'm fine."

Sophia and Eruca's pursed mouths told him they thought otherwise. The doorbell rang out before they could place a word.

"Oh, that must be—" Sophia said.

Stocke jumped to his feet, nearly falling all over in the process. Ignoring his mother and sister crying out from behind, he wobbled to the door and swung it open.

"Good morning, nephew!"

Stocke stared mutely at the cheerful man standing in the pouring rain. Uncle Heinrich waved at him, grinning that dopey grin of his, the one that had brightened so many of Stocke's childhood days. Stocke's head was swimming again. _If it was nothing but a dream, then why am I so affected by it?_ Heinrich's eyes widened behind his glasses as Stocke fell back against the wall. He buried his face into his hands. _A simple nightmare wouldn't screw me up so much…_

"Ernst!" Stocke heard his mother and sister shout. Not a second later, they were at his side, supporting him. Heinrich fidgeted on his spot, mouth opening and closing in quick succession.

"What is wrong with you, my boy?" he stuttered. "What happened, Sophie?!"

"There's nothing wrong with me," Stocke said. "I'm fine." To his annoyance, he fumbled over the words. _Yeah, sure,_ that'll _convince them…_

"Fine? You passed out just moments ago!" Sophia exclaimed. She put a hand to his brow. "And you're all sweaty and warm. I'm sure you have a fever!"

Stocke inhaled sharply through his nose. _Dammit. Why did you have to say that in front of_ —

"What?!" Uncle Heinrich cried out; he seemed on the verge of fainting as well. "How could this be?" Stocke burned with shame as his uncle started to tug on the sleeve of his uniform. "That's it, I'm bringing you to see a doctor."

" _No_ ," Stocke said. "Besides, you have work today." There was a twitch in his heart as he remembered the circumstances behind the accident that would—that _might_ —lead to the man's death. "I mean…"

"An eighteen-year-old boy in perfect health usually doesn't have faint without a good reason," Uncle Heinrich said. "You're coming with me and that's that."

"I'll drive him, Harry," Sophia interrupted. "He's my son."

"Sophie, I can—"

"Heinrich." Sophia's mouth was smiling, but her eyes were frosty. "I can take care of my own son. Please go to work."

"But—"

Stocke sighed and raised his hands to put an end to their squabbling. "I'll go with Mom. But you," he jabbed his finger at his uncle, "you stay out of the main road. Don't go your usual route. Take a detour if you need to." Heinrich's mouth dangled open as he stared at Stocke's extended finger. Still, worry gnawed at the back of Stocke's mind. "Dammit," he said after a bit of deliberation, "just take the bus, it'll be safer."

"What? _No_ , that's ludicrous, that would take forever."

Stocke groaned. He had to take out the big guns. "Do it for me. _Please?_ "

Confusion was written all over Heinrich's face, but his eyes grew big and shiny. "O-of course I will, if you insist."

"What about me?"

Stocke's insides twisted at the sound of that voice. He gazed down at his sister, throat constricting. "Eruca, you…" Her mouth was slightly open, her brows were furrowed. Stocke took a painful swallow. "Mom, can she just come with us?"

Sophia and Eruca exchanged a look.

"Well, this is my first day of school, but…" Eruca tugged at her skirt. "But I _am_ worried about you, so…"

Sophie rolled her eyes heavenward. "Of course you can come along. Go get your things, both of you."

"I'll get Ernst's things," Eruca said. "Stay here, you." She pinned Stocke down with her stare, before leaving without another word.

Stocke watched her go with a heavy heart. _Dammit._ This was all so dumb. And yet, he wished a thousand times this would all turn out to be just a stupid fantasy of his.

There was a way he could make sure, however. "Eruca, wait," he called out. His sister stopped in her tracks and looked at him, puzzled. "There's something on my desk that I'm gonna need. Can you bring it to me?" _If it doesn't exist, then I'm just a lunatic freaking out over a dumb nightmare._

_If not…_

Stocke didn't want to elaborate on that thought.

* * *

It was a little after noon when Sophia finally brought Stocke and Eruca to school.

Eruca immediately bolted for the principal's office with a doctor's note detailing why they had both skipped school this morning. Stocke himself ambled around, unwilling to mingle with the thick crowd that had gathered in front of the main gates of St. Noah's High. The other students paid him no mind. A couple of kids were seated together, playing a board game. Stocke glanced at their table, mildly interested. Laughter rung out to his left. Out of the corner of his eyes, Stocke saw a group of girls giggling, cell phones in hands. The sports courts were already full with teenagers playing basketball or soccer. Stocke sighed. There wasn't a familiar face in sight.

Stocke glanced inside his duffel bag. The thick old book stood out against the rest of his school stuff. He'd been both relieved and horrified when Eruca had brought it from his bedroom before they had all left for the hospital. He wasn't going mad, at least. On the other hand, if the book truly existed, then it meant…

Stocke felt his phone buzz from his pocket. He took it out and saw that he had received a message from his best friend Rosch.

 _where u? where u been?_ Not a second later, Stocke's phone chimed again.

 _Where are you? Why aren't you at school?_ Stocke couldn't help but smile; that was his other best friend, Sonja Silverberg. Another message soon appeared. _Rosch's been worried sick! Answer your phone!_

 _I'm at school now,_ he wrote to Sonja. _Where are you?_

He had barely sent it when he received the response. _Left corner of the courtyard, near the basketball courts. Same spot as usual_.

Stocke picked up the pace to go find them. He crossed the busy courtyard, deftly making his way through the crowd, and soon spied the very familiar silhouette of his best friend. Leon Rosch was indeed impossible to miss: he was the tallest student in St. Noah's High by a far margin, towering even above the adult staff. Blond stubble covered a square jaw; if it wasn't for his school uniform, anyone would take him for a teacher.

Rosch was leaning on the trunk of an oak tree which overlooked the picnic table where Sonja was sitting down. She was talking animatedly, but Rosch didn't seem to pay much attention, only nodding once in a while to make it appear that he was following the conversation. His eyebrows shot up when he saw Stocke approaching.

"There you are!" Rosch greeted Stocke with a slap on the back. Stocke noticed his friend wasn't wearing his prosthetic; Stocke was slightly ashamed of the way his eyes were so easily drawn to the sight of Rosch's empty left sleeve flapping in the wind.

"Stocke!" Sonja said, rising from her seat. "Where were you? You're not one to skip school, usually."

The corners of Stocke's mouth curled into a sheepish smile. "I was at the hospital. I'm fine, though."

"Fine?" Sonja's long brown hair whipped back and forth as she shook her head. "Someone who's fine usually don't have to go to the hospital." She put her hands on her hips, her foot tapping against the ground.

"I just fainted," Stocke said. "You don't have to make such a big fuss. They didn't find anything wrong with me."

"Really? Why did you pass out, then?"

 _Dammit. She's as worse as Mom or Uncle._ "Nerves, probably. They figured it must be because of school starting and stuff. It's no big deal."

"No big deal?" Sonja cried out. "Stocke, you _really_ are hopeless!"

Rosch gave a little chuckle. Stocke sent him a pointed glare.

"It really isn't," he muttered.

"Haven't you heard?" Sonja's tone had suddenly gone from exasperated to worried. "They say a kid in from our year has been in a coma for two weeks. They didn't find anything wrong with him. One day, he just passed out and didn't wake up."

"So?" Stocke said with a shrug.

"It happened to a friend of Kiel's, too," Rosch added. "You remember him, my cousin?" Stocke nodded, wincing. How could he forget? The kid had taken to follow him like a starstruck puppy every time they met. "Mimel, I think that's her name. It's been two months and she still hasn't woken up."

Stocke folded his arms together. _Strange occurrences_ , that boy had said. _Rumours and gossip._ Could it be…?

"As I said," Stocke said, injecting a note of finality in his tone, "I'm fine. Just tell me what I missed."

"Well, the principal's speech, for starters," Rosch said. "That wasn't a big loss."

"There are two new teachers," Sonja continued. "Professor Dias for maths—we had a class this morning. And, um, the other guy, I think his name is Selvan? He's teaching social sciences in our year."

"They've replaced the assistant principal, too. The new one seems a bit batty."

Sonja giggled. "Her speech was as long as Principal Hugo's. I thought it would never end."

"At least she didn't go on and on about the depths of depravity and carnal sins and who know what else keeps Principal Hugo up at night."

Sonja rummaged through her bag. "You can copy my notes if you want, Stocke," she said. "We just went over the syllabus, so there's not a lot you missed."

"Thanks."

"It's nothing." Sonja narrowed her eyes. "Just promise me to be careful and take good care of your health, right? Both of you idiots, in fact."

Rosch scratched the back of his head, embarrassed, while Stocke just gave Sonja a slight smile. "Of course we will. Don't worry."

"Right," Sonja said, "with that cleared, maybe I'll be able to focus all my attentions on getting better grades than last year. That was truly _atrocious_."

Stocke frowned. "Sonja, you know it wasn't your fault. Your brother—"

"It doesn't matter." She shook her head. "I have to get better grades or I'll never be able to get into ASU."

Stocke was about to argue, but he felt a hand on his shoulder. Rosch was looking down at him, silently urging him not to discuss the matter further. Stocke sighed.

"You'll do great," he opted to tell Sonja instead.

"Of course she will," Rosch said. "We'll help, too."

Sonja brought her hands together and smiled. "You boys are adorable! I don't know what I'd do without you two." She embraced both of them; she was so tiny she only came up to their chests. Stocke was amused to see that Rosch had gone redder that his necktie.

Over Sonja's shoulder, next to the fence, a dark shade twisted into being. Stocke startled, stiffening. He blinked, and the thing was gone.

Sonja let go of him. "Something's wrong, Stocke?" she asked.

Stocke gazed down at her, too stunned for words. Instead, he only shook his head. The bell rang out in the distance. Sonja gave Stocke one last skeptical look, and went to gather the things she'd left on the table. Rosch followed after her, leaving Stocke alone to mull over what he'd seen.

He stared at the spot where the thing—it'd looked like someone's shadow, except a shadow was never so _dense_ —had stood only moments prior. One of his hands clutched at his bag.

_Maybe I'm really going mad, then._

* * *

The rest of the week would have been uneventful, if it wasn't for more of these shadow things materializing on the school ground.

They always lurked at the edges of Stocke's vision, dissipating the moment he turned to lay eyes on them. None of the other students seemed to see them. The shadow things prowled the school hallways; they stood unnoticed in the corners of the classrooms and gathered at the outskirts of the sports courts. Everyday their outlines seemed to get a little sharper, their darkness a little deeper.

 _Schizophrenic. I'm starting to go schizophrenic_ , was Stocke's conclusion. The logical step would be to confide in his loved ones and consult a specialist, yet Stocke instead found himself being more tight-lipped than ever. Eruca had easily adapted to her new environment, making some new friends right on her first day, while as always Mom was a bundle of positive energy. Even surly Uncle Heinrich seemed to be happier than usual. Stocke feared nothing more than to burden them with his own troubles.

 _Follow your intuition,_ that girl had said. She could have been only a figment of Stocke's imagination, yet her advice was sound. For now, he'd gather as much information as he could. _After that…_ After that, he just hoped he would be strong enough to accept whatever truth he would uncover.

His resolve was tested much sooner than he would have thought.

His part-time job was not far from school, and so Stocke simply walked to the small bookshop where he worked when classes were over, turning back Uncle's offer to drive him there. The roads were unusually empty, especially for a late Friday afternoon. Stocke had not seen any of the strange creatures throughout the day. Still, a sense of doom gripped him, and he looked at every shadowed corner with suspicion, muscles tensed in anticipation. He had the prickling feeling that _something_ would happen soon.

His worst fears were confirmed when he reached an alleyway he often used as a shortcut. The backstreets around these parts were usually filled with kids playing and running about. Yet, Stocke was alone today.

Or he would have been, if it wasn't for the trio of shadowy creatures materializing the moment he'd laid foot in the alleyway.

Stocke cursed as he adjusted his hold on his school bag, ready to swing it like a weapon if needed. These things had never appeared out of the school ground before. Now that they stood only a few meters away, Stocke could finally see what they truly looked like. They were shaped like large lumps, and made of a strange, goopy substance; they left dark, oily trails behind them whenever they moved. When they finally noticed Stocke, they made a sharp turn and stared at him. Their faces—if they had any—were hidden behind blue masks. The number 'I' in ancient Imperial numerals was etched above round holes showing empty, soulless eyes.

With a hiss, the three creatures were upon him.

Stocke managed to hit one squarely in the face with his bag, but the other two easily evaded his clumsy swing. Long, black tendrils resembling hands grabbed his right arm and twisted around his torso. Stocke screamed. A sharp pain burned everywhere the creatures touched him.

They pushed him against the wall, taking the breath out of him. Stocke struggled against their grip, and with tremendous effort he succeeded in pulling the lid off a trashcan. He flung it at the creatures, and the lid collided with their mask with a loud metallic clang. The shadow things stumbled backwards, stunned, and Stocke escaped their grasp, managing to crawl a few meters away before falling to the ground. Stocke grunted as he attempted to get to his feet—to no avail. His limbs shook from the pain and the fear and wouldn't listen to his commands. The creatures swooped towards him, and he braced himself, mouth tightening, arms rising above his face in a futile attempt to ward them off.

_I am thou... Thou art I..._

Stocke let out a gasp. Where had that voice come from?

_From the sea of thy soul, I come..._

A warmth was spreading through his chest. The creatures were above him, their shadowy arms extending to claw at him—they blocked the light of the sun, leaving Stocke in near darkness—and yet a simple tranquility was diffusing through his being. _I'm not alone_ , Stocke thought. What could have given birth to such a certitude, Stocke didn't know. Yet, he knew instinctively what to do.

"Come!" he shouted, his arm reaching for the rays of the suns that did manage to filter to him, " _Persona!_ "

There was a sharp sound like a piece of glass cracking, and a light as blinding as a summer sun came down on him. The light sharpened into a humanoid figure; it hovered above Stocke, limbs extended into the shape of a cross.

_I am thou... Thou art I... I am the bearer of the white flame, the harbinger of the final twilight. The shadows shall wither and die before my blade!_

In its right hand, a long sword blazed into existence. The figure raised it above its head, where it caught the rays of the sun, magnifying their brilliance. With a great cry, Stocke's savior brought the fiery blade down on the three shadow creatures, ripping them apart. They twisted and screeched as flames devoured their bodies. In a matter of seconds they had burned away, not even leaving a scatter of ashes behind.

Stocke panted and loosed his tie as he studied the area where the creatures had scorched to nothingness only moments prior. Above his head, the brilliantly golden figure hovered, silent and magnificent. Its light was so harsh Stocke could barely stand to look at it. Stocke raised his face to meet its eyes—two blue flames blazing like the headlight of a car. His savior was rapidly fading away, making it impossible to make out the rest of his visage. Yet, Stocke knew his name. It was as familiar as the one his parents had given him, eighteen years ago.

"Baldr," he breathed.

The golden figure gave a nod, his fiery eyes gleaming with pride, before dissipating into the sunlit alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: I'd like to thank all of you for being with me for another chapter. Special thanks go to quicksilver-ink for beta-ing!


	4. Arcana III - The Empress

_"Celebrate life's grandeur, its brilliance, its magnificence..."_

_Nyx Avatar, Persona 3._

* * *

Stocke sat, panting, for a long moment, after the brilliant figure had gone from the sunlight-filled alleyway. _My Persona_ , his instinct told him. _Baldr._ Why was he aware of the creature's name? How had he learned the way to summon it? This, he did not know.

Stocke staggered back until he felt the solidity of the wall behind him. He remembered the pain that had flared up when the black creatures had touched him, and he checked his arms for burn marks in a flurry of chaotic movements.

He let out a slow exhalation as he found nothing. Stocke stared numbly at the pale, unblemished skin, his mouth going dry. _Dammit._ _What the hell happened?_ Had he had hallucinated the figure—Baldr—as well as these shadowy monsters? Dozens of dreadful possibilities raced through Stocke's mind. _If I'm going crazy, then this is getting worse and worse._ There was a dull pang in his chest as he thought of his family. _What are they going to do with me?_

The crunch of gravel under someone's feet snapped him out of his dark thoughts. Stocke attempted to scramble to his feet, but his shoe slipped under his weight and he hit the ground, the fall knocking the air out of his lungs. Before he could get a better look at the figure at the other end of the alleyway, they had bolted.

"Wait!" Stocke called after them. "Don't run!" With a grunt, he finally managed to push himself off the ground and broke into a run. The stranger was using the maze of alleyways to their advantage, and so even though Stocke was faster—he had the clear impression that the one he pursued had rather short legs—he never quite managed to gain on them.

"I'm not going to hurt you!" Stocke shouted. "I only need to know—" _Did you see them too?_

Soon, the sounds of their footsteps was fading away. Stocke stopped in his tracks, wincing as he tried to catch his breath. It all possibilities, the one he had been pursuing must have reached one of the main streets by now; it would be impossible to find them now that they had blended with the crowd. Stocke was certain they'd been small and slight. _A kid?_ He must have frightened them.

Stocke rubbed the bridge of his nose. _Just my luck…_ For a moment, he entertained the idea of just calling at work to ask for a night off. The bookstore where he worked belonged to a pair of sweet-natured elderly folks who never refused him anything. Stocke took his cell phone from his pocket, sighing as he glanced at the darkening sky.

 _I'm gonna be late anyway…_ Still, Stocke's thumb hovered over the buttons as he thought of his mother and sister. What would he tell them? He had done his best to act normal throughout the week, and yet they had treated him like some breakable object the moment he'd given so much a sneeze. _I can't give them another reason to worry about me._ Stocke let out a groan as he pocketed his phone. He headed out of the alleyway, unaware that a small figure was spying on him from just beyond the corner, their eyes shining with curiosity and fear.

* * *

The next day he went to school, Stocke blended in with the crowd gathering at St. Noah's entrance, lost in thoughts. His indifferent gaze ran across the dozens of faces, and he listened to what Eruca was saying with minimal attention. Still, a chill ran down Stocke's spine when his eyes fell upon a dark shape, its deep black sticking out amongst the bright blue of the students' uniforms.

Another of these creatures had appeared at school.

The monster stood in the thick of the crowd, unseen by the gaggle of students entering the school. Stocke stilled at its sight, jaw tightening. Only when he felt a tug at his sleeve did he came out of his daze. Startled, he looked down to find Eruca staring at him, puzzlement written over all her face.

"I'm fine," he answered her unspoken question. "You know me. I'm not so good with Mondays." He forced his mouth to curl into a rueful grin and hoped she would not notice that his eyes weren't smiling as well.

More and more of these creatures appeared as the days went by. In truth, they never seemed to pay Stocke any mind, making him all the more apprehensive. They gathered in packs in the darkened corners of the classrooms and hallways, their fuzzy shape only sharpening whenever someone approached their unmoving forms, unaware of their silent and secret vigil. Sometimes, the creatures did stir, moving as if to follow a teacher or a student. Every time it happened Stocke grew tense, limbs coiling as he anticipated an attack that never did come in the end. Worse still, the students and staff of St. Noah's never seemed to notice the strangers in their midst. Stocke was truly the only one who could see them.

Stocke was about to accept the terrifying truth that they were just a figment of his imagination, a hallucination brought about by his perhaps now diseased brain, when he was finally given the answers he sought.

It took Stocke some time to become aware of his surroundings. The last thing he recalled was going to bed and uneasily staring at his ceiling in the dark of his room. Stocke shifted in the seat he was currently occupying, running his hands against the armrests, feeling the soft plushness of velvet under his fingertips. He wasn't anywhere at home, that much he knew. His mom would never go for something as gaudy as velvet.

"Welcome to the Velvet Room," came a familiar, cheerful voice. The fog in front of Stocke's eyes was dissipating, and now he could clearly see the electric blue sky spreading into infinity and in front of him, the strange trio he had met not long after—

Stocke's throat constricted, and he gripped the armrests of his chair tighter. _No, don't think about that._ He inhaled and exhaled. _Focus._ The old man—Igor—was staring at him with bloodshot eyes, and yet Stocke found the twins' gazes more unnerving. There was a sense of genuine helpfulness in Igor's smile, at least.

"My, how good to see you again, my boy," Igor said. "I was starting to wonder if you had forgotten us."

"I was starting to think I might have dreamed you guys up," Stocke replied. "So. Are you going to give me some answers or you'll wait until I have another near-death experience?"

The boy twin shook his head. "The Shadows wouldn't have killed you."

 _So that's what those monsters are called._ "Really?" Stocke remembered the sense of burning, and the rising terror in his guts as the dark tendrils had twisted around him. "What would have they done, then?"

The girl—Lippti—was the one who answered. "You could say they would have sucked the lifeforce out of you."

Stocke let out an irritated sound. "How is that any different from killing me?"

"Your body would still be alive," Teo said. "You would only be… _comatose._ "

 _That's so much better, of course_. "What _are_ those things?" A thought suddenly struck Stocke. "They attacked some other people beside me, did they? Like these kids at school?" Igor's grin disappeared; it was all Stocke needed to know he was right. "These two… are they going to be all right?"

"We do not know," Lippti said, evading Stocke's gaze. "There are many things we do not know about the situation at present. We were hoping you would be our eyes and ears, in fact."

"Still, we can tell you what the Shadows are," Igor said with a cackle. "And how to beat them."

Stocke remembered the fiery figure striking the black creatures in the alleyway with its burning sword. "With my Persona, right?" He rubbed his temples, groaning. This was all going to result in a headache, he knew it. "What the hell is a Persona, anyway?"

"A facet of your true self, my boy," Igor said. "You are a son, a brother, a nephew, a friend, a student… and for each and every of these identities you have a mask that you present to the outside world. Your Persona is just another of these masks."

 _Now_ Stocke's head really hurt. "I don't see how this allows me to summon a magic person out of thin air."

"You unlocked the abilities that were dormant within you when you agreed to a contract with us," Teo said. "This is why you were able to see the Shadows as well."

"Sadly, they became aware of your presence for the same reason," Lippti added. "And the more attention you paid to them, the more they noticed you."

Stocke leaned back into the chair, throat tightening. "So they could attack me again." He felt cold all over. "And what if they try assaulting someone who hasn't got a Persona?"

"You already know the answer," Teo said.

The air seemed to thin around Stocke. "I could have ended up like one of these two kids." _Anyone could end up like those two kids._ His hands curled into fists. " _Damn_. How can we stop them?"

"First of all," Teo began, "the creatures who attacked you were only offshoots of a bigger Shadow. That's why you beat them so easily."

"Great. Just… _great_. How do I find the biggest fish, then? And how do I kill it?"

The twins exchanged a frozen smile, while Igor quirked an eyebrow.

"You've become a bit bloodthirsty, haven't you, my boy?" the master of the Velvet Room said, chuckling.

"I'm not looking for a fight," Stocke told Igor, "but if those things can hurt any more people, then…"

"It would be impossible for you to kill a real Shadow by yourself," a stern Teo said. "It would be far more powerful than someone of your skills."

"Then, what?"

"You must weaken it," Lippti replied. "Much like a Persona, a Shadow comes from someone's heart. To defeat a Shadow, you must first gain the assistance of the person from whom it was borne. Once they claim the Shadow as their own, its powers can be nullified."

"But the larger a Shadow is, the more difficult it is to find," Teo said. "A powerful Shadow will start subtly reshaping reality to its own whims. If you are not carefully looking for it, its influence might pass unnoticed."

"Keep your eyes open for anything out of the ordinary," Lippti said. "And do not worry. The White Chronicle is watching out for you. She will not allow you to fail."

"She?" Stocke could not help but frown. "Books have genders now?"

The twins were stone-faced. Igor's smile was as unhelpful as the two children's blank stares.

Stocke understood they would tell him no more. "Fine. I'll do some sleuthing of my own. And I'll find that damn Black Chronicle of yours before it can wreak more havoc on my school."

"On your school, you say?" Teo noted. "That's an interesting observation. The attacks all have occurred in a certain radius of your school... for now."

"That's what I thought, too," Stocke said. Could the holder of the Black Chronicle be a student or a teacher? "How do I find a Shadow? What does it looks like?"

"Each Shadow is unique," Igor said, drumming his fingers against the desk. "Their appearance varies according to the human from whom it was created."

"And as we said before," Lippti continued, "a Shadow's very presence warps reality. You might not notice it at first, but the moment you become aware of it, the Shadow will reveal itself to you."

Stocke found this was less than helpful. "Alright," he said, "I guess I'll learn as I go."

"We wish you luck," Lippti said; her voice echoed in his ears as the fog overtook him once more.

Stocke woke up not long after, the early morning sun filtering through the drapes on his window. He said nothing as his mother and sister chatted animatedly over breakfast, mulling over the monumental task that had been laid in front of him. Thankfully, no one—not even the worriers that were his uncle and Sonja—commented on his silent and contemplative mood throughout the day. They were used to it by now, Stocke surmised.

School didn't seem much different—if one could overlook the lesser Shadows hiding amongst the students and staff, that is. Stocke ignored them at the best of his abilities, unwilling to have a repeat of the attack in the alleyway. None of the creatures seemed to particularly stand out in his eyes. _The Shadow will reveal itself to you,_ Lippti had said. To Stocke, it was as crappy as a piece of advice could get.

A poke in the back took Stocke out of his reverie. He had been daydreaming during math class. He gave a furtive look behind him, where Sonja was scowling at him, her pen still up in the air. He mouthed a sheepish 'sorry' before turning back his attentions to the teacher. Anselm Dias was one of the two newcomers—the social studies teacher, Regis Selvan, being the other. One sweeping glance at this class was enough to tell Stocke that Dias was the favourite among the two. Even now, three weeks into the semester, most girls—and a couple of boys, too—gave him coy looks, blushing the moment he would turn his dark purple gaze to them. With long, flawless silver-gold hair and skin as smooth and pale as white marble, Dias looked more like a movie star than a mere school teacher. He was halfway decent at his job too, which made him okay in Stocke's books.

A look of annoyance did mar that perfect face when the sound of someone knocking on the door broke the silence that had fallen as the students worked. The door opened, revealing a young man Stocke recognized as the vice-principal's secretary.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your class, Mr. Dias, sir," he said without much enthusiasm. "The vice-principal has asked to meet up with a student." He took out a paper from his pocket. "A, um, a certain Ernst Stocke-Hei—"

"That's me," Stocke said, interrupting the young man before he could say the last bit of his name. _Didn't the official records strike out that part?_

"Did something happen?" Dias asked, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"No," the secretary said. "Well, I don't know, she hasn't said."

"Go," Dias said with a dismissive wave of the hand. "But I expect you to catch up on what you missed on your own."

Stocke exchanged a look with Sonja; she gave a little nod as if to say she'd help. Stocke got out of his chair without another word and followed the secretary, apprehension weighing down on him.

"She's waiting for you," the secretary said as they arrived at the vice-principal's office. He motioned for Stocke to enter, and the latter did so with a sigh and slumped shoulders.

If Dias resembled the kind of heartthrobs who would make the first page in teenage girls' magazines, then vice-principal Protea Bicchieri looked like the kind of women who would appear in publications of more dubious moral quality. She was shapely and she knew it: she wore tight pencil skirts and shirts that were buttoned just enough so Principal Hugo could not say anything but which still offered a plunging view down her cleavage. Her face was lovely enough, though she always appeared to sport a perpetual sneer, something which spoiled her features a bit, Stocke found.

"Oh?" vice-principal Protea said, turning away from her computer. "I didn't expect for you to come so fast. Sit down." She offered him a smile that would have made most teenage boys weak in the knees. Stocke just stared.

"Did something happen?" he said. She appeared a bit taken aback by his bluntness, but Stocke did not care. "Why did you call me?"

Protea laughed. "And here I though any kid of your age would be thrilled to be taken out of class." She grinned that predatory smile again. "Especially to spend some time with a lovely lady."

Stocke blinked dumbly at her. _God. Did she just…?_

"But there's no need to worry, sweetie. Nothing has happened. I was just curious to meet a member of my new family."

Stocke continued to stare, his surprise barely registering on his face. "Your… new family?"

"Yes," she said, feigning a bit of distress. "It seems Victor hasn't told you about me. How dreadful!"

"I haven't spoken with my dad in months."

"That's so sad. He's very distraught that you have to live so far away, didn't you know?"

Stocke's face became so stiff it started to hurt. "No. And my mom once put a restraining order against him. Didn't you know?"

Protea's smile was as brittle as ice. "Well, as of two months ago, I've become your new stepmother." She waved her left hand in Stocke's face; he could see the glittering diamond ring on her finger. "I'm so glad to be finally able to meet you."

Usually, Stocke would congratulate someone on their wedding, but he could only pity the poor woman. Now that she was seated directly in front of him, her face only inches away, he understood why he'd found her facial features so beautiful. _She looks like a younger version of Mom._ The thought made him sick to his stomach. _Creepy bastard. Good thing Mom doesn't know._

"To think my first job in Alistel would be at my stepson's school! The world really is a tiny place." Protea rested her chin on her hands, offering Stocke an even better view of her cleavage. He obstinately looked at the wall instead. "You look just like him, you know. I knew you would be as handsome as your papa."

 _Now_ , Stocke did feel like he was about to retch. _A younger version of Mom who keeps_ hitting _on me_. He briefly wondered whether to tell the school authorities or sic his uncle on her. Then again, perhaps the latter option was far too cruel to be even considered seriously.

"Still, it was hard for me to realize you were even a student here," Protea said. "Since you took your mother's name and everything."

"My sister's in Class 1-A," Stocke replied. "And my uncle teaches history in that grade too. Were you aware?"

"Really?" Her eyes were round in insincere surprise. "I didn't know."

 _And_ they _are the ones who share a name with your husband…_ "Can I go back to class, now?"

"Well, there _is_ something I'd like to tell you before you go," Protea said. "It's about your father." She looked stricken for a moment—Stocke wondered if this was faked as well. "It's… well, I haven't heard from him for a _month_."

Stocke folded his arms together. "…and?"

Now Protea's composure did break a little. She must have found him to be quite the ungrateful child. "Aren't you worried? He's your father, after all."

"You've called the police, right?"

"No, but—I've figured he might have contacted you or your sister. You're his children after all. And I know he'd gone to Alistel to meet you this summer. I thought..."

"I told you," Stocke said in an almost growl, "I never speak to him. He lives in a different country. And there's this little thing the court put on him. Oh, yeah, that restraining order. Little thing, that."

Protea's smile looked like it was about to shatter into a thousand of tiny pieces. "So sad to see a family broken apart like that. Well, you can go, now. Skip class if you like—you got the vice-principal's permission." She winked and lightly touched Stocke's arm. The latter ground his teeth together, but said nothing. "I'm glad to have met you."

"Likewise," Stocke said, his jaw tightening.

He was happy to be finally out of her office—she had managed to make the tiny space almost as suffocating as the family dining room had been in the home he'd grown up. Stocke quickened his pace, cursing as he looked at the hour on his cellphone. Dias' class was the last one of the day —and Stocke's meeting with the creepy new addition to his family had eaten up almost half of it.

The bell rang as Stocke was about to go back into the classroom. With a sigh, he went against the rush of student coming out of the door, making a beeline for his desk. He was thankful to see that Sonja was already gathering his stuff.

"Stocke! There you are!" Sonja ran up to him; as he had expected, her eyes were filled with worry. "Did something—? "

"Everything's fine," Stocke assured her. "Let's get out of here, first, and meet up with Rosch." He grimaced. "I guess there _is_ something I have to tell you."

"Oh…" Sonja bit her lips. As they went out the door, she continued, "Sorry, but I have to go. I'm helping Mr. Fennel set up the labs for class tomorrow. And I think Rosch is giving Coach Garland a hand with the new recruits."

"I see," Stocke said. "So, I guess he'll drive you home after that?" Sonja had always stayed in school after classes—she'd been part of almost any club imaginable. Back in the days, her brother Rowan would always come and fetch her once he'd finish his shifts at the hospital. Now, Rosch was usually the one to give her a ride home.

"Yes, he will, after practise is over." Sonja sighed. "I hope this is a good idea, him helping around even though he'll never be able to make the team." She looked to the ground miserably. The topic of Rosch's injury had always upset her.

"Of course, it is," Stocke assured her. "Does Rosch strike you as the kind of guy to be worked up about it?"

Sonja smiled and patted his arm. They had reached the point where they'd have to part. "I guess not. His therapist said it'd help, after all."

"You're the one who's always saying to listen to your shrink," Stocke said. "Say hi to him for me."

"I will! See you tomorrow!" And with that she was off to the science wing.

Mercifully, nothing happened over the course of the next days. Both Eruca and Sophia were horrified to learn of the newest addition to their family tree. Still, the vice-principal did not attempt to contact Stocke or his sister afterwards. Stocke couldn't help but wonder what would happen if she were to meet with his uncle—she'd come back scarred from that encounter, he was sure. The man had gleefully built a dossier containing every dirt he could find on her when Stocke had told him of their family connection.

The last week of September came by without any new bizarre revelation, to Stocke's greatest relief. By now, he had established a certain pattern in his patrols across the school ground. It allowed him to be unnoticed by the other students and the staff—the last thing he needed was for anyone to notice just how strange he was acting. He questioned the friends of the Shadows' first two victims. Their testimonials did not help shed any new light on the case. The two victims had been normal kids, with no known illness or trouble, one being a shy girl who had been thinking of joining the school music band, the other being a chatty member of the school chess club. Truly, Stocke had no lead to follow.

Rosch and Sonja never seemed to notice his odd behaviour. Sometimes, Stocke wrestled with the idea of telling them everything. There was a certain part of him that dreaded the possibility that the Shadows' next casualty would be someone he knew. And the thought of anything happening to the two of them was—

"The Coach's been putting us through hell," Rosch told Stocke and Sonja as they left their last class, one late Monday afternoon. He flexed his left arm and flinched. " _Ow._ Dammit, that last practise was _murder_."

"Poor baby," Sonja said with a laugh. "He's doing this for your sake, you know. You're our best hope at making the college team."

Rosch blushed as he rubbed his neck. "Sure. Maybe." Stocke hid a smile; even the tip of Rosch's ears were red. "Want me to come and get you after I'm done with practise? You're helping Prof. Fennel with the labs again, are you?"

"That won't be necessary," Sonja said. "Rowan will come for me after work."

For some reason, this struck Stocke as odd. "Rowan is? But…"

"Hm?" Sonja said. "What's wrong, Stocke?"

The strange impression was gone. Stocke shook his head. "Nothing. I'm just tired, I guess."

"Okay," Sonja said. "If you say so." She gave him what he called her doctor-in-training's glare. "Make sure you get plenty of rest, then."

"Yeah, sure," Stocke told her with a shrug.

He was still daydreaming and mulling over the strange feeling that had seized him at the mention of Sonja's brother when his sister called for him from across the school entrance. Stocke cut through the crowd to join her.

"Ernst, finally!" Eruca admonished. "You're always so slow lately. You know Uncle doesn't like to wait."

Stocke noted belatedly that she was accompanied by two other kids. One was a short and chubby boy with messy pale brown hair and dark eyes peering up curiously at Stocke from under his glasses. The other was a tall girl with dark hair, tan skin and almond-shaped eyes that seemed to glint with perpetual good humour. The short skirt of the uniform allowed her to show off long, muscled legs. She carried over her shoulder a sports bag and a hockey stick.

"Is that your brother?" the dark-haired girl asked Eruca, her eyes flicking from Stocke's feet to his head. Her grin grew even wider. "Must be, there's this crazy family resemblance. 'Cept you're taller and stuff." For some reason, Stocke had the feeling she'd meant to use another word instead of 'taller' but decided against it at the last minute.

"This is Raynie Sukapatana," Eruca said—the girl wiggled her eyebrows in salutations—"and this is Marco Zielinski." The short boy gave Stocke an unsteady smile, then glanced at his friend Raynie, muttering _'here we go again'_ under his breath.

"Nice to meet you both," Stocke said. "I guess you're the ones who've been taking good care of my little sister since the beginning of the school year."

" _Ernst!_ " Eruca said, protesting with a pout.

Raynie gave a loud bark of laughter. "I dunno about taking good care of her, but we sure are gonna make her class president, so that amounts to something, right?"

"Raynie, I'm not even in the running yet…"

"Well, you should be! You're smarter than the bunch of us put together!"

"No one would ever want to vote for me…"

"They'd be dumb, then!"

"Raynie, stop pressuring her," Marco said, rolling his eyes. "Don't you have your own ambitions to fulfill?"

Raynie balanced the hockey stick on her shoulder. "Of course, I do, but that's gonna wait til next year. They'd never allow a freshman to be captain of the hockey team, would they? So, until then, I have to vicariously live through Eruca and her triumphs."

Stocke didn't think Eruca could grow any redder; still, she was smiling and looking bashfully at her new friend, no doubt touched by her loyalty. The boy called Marco massaged his temples, sighing.

"Well, you crazy kids keep up the good fight," Stocke told Raynie and Marco. "Let's go, 'Ruca."

* * *

Stocke groaned as he drifted out of sleep, the alarm buzz screeching into his ears. He propped himself on one arm, looking at his calendar. _Another Monday morning…_ He rubbed his eyes and dragged himself out of bed. He let his gaze wander to his desk, where he'd put the White Chronicle over his school books. _How is it supposed to help me, anyway?_

At least he found Eruca to be in a good mood; she talking animatedly about her new friends and her plans to run for class president as they prepared breakfast together. "You'd like them, Ernst," she told Stocke. "I have to introduce you sometimes!"

Stocke could not focus on any of his classes throughout the day. His eyelids were heavy, the teachers' words barely filtering in. When the final bell rung, he followed after Rosch and Sonja, listening to their conversation with a lazy ear.

“The Coach’s been putting us through hell,” Stocke could hear Rosch say. “ _Ow._ Dammit, that last practise was _murder_.”

Sonja responded with a laugh. "Poor baby. He's doing this for your sake, you know. You're our best hope at making the college team."

Stocke frowned. His head was starting to hurt, and he could feel the blood thumping in his temples.

Rosch rubbed his neck with his left hand. "Sure. Maybe." He turned to Sonja, cheeks reddening. "Want me to come and get you after I'm done with practise? You're helping Prof. Fennel with the labs again, are you?"

"That won't be necessary," Sonja said. "Rowan will come for me after work."

Stocke stopped in his tracks. _Huh?_

"Hm?" Sonja said. "What's wrong, Stocke?"

Stocke looked down at her, his vision momentarily blurring. _What's going on?_ "Nothing. My head hurts, that's all."

"Okay," Sonja said. "If you say so. Make sure you get plenty of rest, then."

"Uh, yeah." Stocke held his head, groaning. "I'll catch up with you guys later."

With mechanical movements, Stocke headed for the school entrance. Soon, he heard Eruca calling out his name.

"Ernst, finally!" Eruca said as he approached her. "You're always so slow lately. You know Uncle doesn't like to wait."

Stocke stared at her, at a loss for words for reasons he couldn't fathom.

"Is that your brother?" the dark-haired girl said. Stocke met her gaze—hadn't they been introduced already? "Must be, there's this crazy family resemblance. 'Cept you're taller and stuff."

"This is—"

"Raynie, I know," Stocke answered.

The girl looked surprised, but pleased. "Oh, I guess she told you about, us, eh? This guy here is Marco." She jabbed her thumb at the smaller boy.

"Nice to meet you, Ernst," Marco said. "Eruca said you used to fence. That's so cool! Is that true?"

"I'm…" Stocke shook his head; the pain in his head was getting stronger and stronger. "Eruca, can we go now? I'm not feeling so good."

"Really?" In the blink of an eye she was at Stocke's side. For once, he was happy that his sister was such a worrier. "Then, let's go back home. I'll see you tomorrow, Raynie, Marco."

Stocke muttered a goodbye as well. He followed after his sister without putting much thought in his movements, almost as if he was in a dream.

* * *

The sound of the alarm buzzing was the first thing his mind registered. Stocke grumbled against his pillow. He would have gladly slept in for another hour. _And to think I went to sleep early to avoid this kind of thing…_

Stocke got out of bed and looked at his calendar. _Another Monday…_ They seemed to keep on coming. He'd have another week with no new lead, this he was certain.

He could hear Eruca humming to herself as he descended the stairs. "My friends want me to run for class president," she said to him as she flipped some pancakes, her tone slightly bashful. "You'd like them, Ernst. I have to introduce you sometimes!"

"You're talking about Raynie and Marco, right?" Stocke replied. "We've met already, haven't we?"

"What? Really? Gosh, there have been so many things to keep track of since I've begun high school. I must have forgotten."

Stocke sipped his tea, frowning. _Maybe I'm the one making things up…_

The rest of the day passed in a blur, Stocke barely paying any attention to the contents of the lessons.

"The Coach's been putting us through hell," Rosch was saying as they left their last class together. " _Ow._ Dammit, that last practise was _murder_." He grabbed his left arm and winced.

Stocke stared at him, his head swimming. _Something's wrong._ He'd seen it before—almost as if he had dreamed about it only the night prior.

"Poor baby. He's doing this for your sake, you know. You're our best hope at making the college team."

"… _no_ ," Stocke found himself saying. "No, he can't make the college team."

The chatter of the other students went on, but for Stocke, it was as though the world had come to a grinding halt as Sonja and Rosch turned to face him, their eyes growing large with incredulity.

"Huh?" Rosch said. "What do you mean?"

"Yes, Stocke," Sonja added as she put her hands on her hips, "what is that supposed to mean? That Rosch's not good enough to make the team?"

"No, I meant… _ugh_ …" Everything behind the two of them seemed to be twisting, the students blurring into unrecognisable shapes, the colours becoming loud and garish, the hallways spreading and spreading until he could not see where it ended. _What the hell is going on?_ Stocke blinked and gasped—the school had gone back to normal the moment he'd opened his eyes.

"I… I didn't mean anything," Stocke managed to say. He looked at his feet. "I'm tired, I guess."

"Huh," was Rosch's reply. "Well, Sonja, want me to come and get you after I'm done with practise? You're helping Prof. Fennel with the labs again, are you?"

"That won't be necessary," Sonja said. "Rowan will come for me after work."

Stocke's gaze snapped to Sonja's face. "What? Rowan… Rowan can't…"

"Hm?" Sonja said. "You're sure everything's okay, Stocke? You don't look so well." She squeezed his arm. "You should get some rest. Remember at the beginning of the month how you fainted?"

"Yeah, you don't wanna give your mom and your sis another fright."

"I'm fine, really," Stocke said. Logic told him he was the one behaving strangely, but a little voice in his head—his intuition, he guessed—told him to be wary. "You should run along now, Sonja, before Fennel throws a fit."

Sonja looked at him with suspicious eyes. "Alright. But the moment something's wrong, you better give it to me straight, Ernst Stocke." She punctuated her last two words by poking him in the chest before finally leaving for the labs.

"Well, I guess I'll be going too," Rosch said. "See you next morning, Sto—"

"Wait, I'll come with you," Stocke interrupted him. "It's been ages since I've seen you practise." In fact, Stocke had the nagging feeling that he'd never even seen Rosch play for the school team. _Maybe it's just my imagination, but…_

"Well, I guess there's no problem, just text your sis and your uncle so they'll know you won't be coming home with them."

Stocke took his phone and wrote a message to Eruca. "Done. Let's go."

As they approached the gymnasium, Stocke did not fail to notice that there seemed to be less and less students in the courtyard and the hallways. The gym itself was completely empty, which was more than unusual. Stocke felt his body tensing.

"You sure there's a practise scheduled?" he told Rosch. "Why is there no one here?"

Rosch shrugged. "Yeah, that's pretty weird. Are we too early?" He went to grab a ball from the racks. "You up for a game? We used to play tons of times when we were kids, remember?"

 _Yeah, before—_ "Rosch, something's wrong." Stocke was certain of it now. The ceiling was higher up than he remembered and the clocks on the wall seemed to be melting, the hands twisting around the centre in never-ending spirals. The colours were all wrong, too—the green paint was so bright a shade it hurt the eye and the corners of the gym were dark as night, a black matter oozing out of them like tar. Long scrolls hung on the walls—they all showed the same number, displaying one name over and over.

_Number 4, Leon Rosch. Number 4, Leon Rosch. Number 4, Leon Rosch—_

Now Stocke was panicking. _But he never made the team…!_ "Rosch, we need to get out of here."

Rosch was not grinning anymore. He hadn't noticed anything strange, a horrified Stocke realized. _I'm still the only one who's seeing all this..._

"What's up, man?" Rosch said. "You've been acting weird. This isn't like you at all." He stopped dribbling, catching the ball with his left hand.

The air sapped out of Stocke's lungs. _Yes, that's it._ He closed his eyes, inhaled, and then opened them. Where there had been a flesh arm before, now only a stump came out of Rosch's left sleeve. _Rosch never made the team because he lost his arm in that accident three years ago._

Cold sweat pooled under Stocke's bangs. Was that what the twins had meant when they had said the Shadow would start to alter reality? If so, this was worse than everything Stocke could have dreamed up.

He'd finally found his first Shadow. And it was possessing his very best friend in the entire world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dramatic chipmunk theme plays*
> 
> …really, I've nothing more profound to contribute. Thanks for reading, as always! And thanks to quicksilver-ink for betaing this thing!


	5. Arcana IV - The Emperor (part I)

_"Only courage in the face of doubt can lead one to the answer."_

_Nyx Avatar, Persona 3._

* * *

"Stocke?" Rosch said. "You sure you okay? You don't look so good…"

Stocke's blood ran cold in his veins. The walls stretched and stretched to oblivion, and a strange blackness oozed out of the corners of the gym, but it was Rosch's nonchalant tone that chilled Stocke the most. _He doesn't see anything of this._ How could it be possible? Could the Shadow be so powerful? Stocke gulped down, a lump forming in his throat; if so, how could he even think of defeating it?

The shadow Rosch cast behind him twisted, its edges growing jagged, sharp. Stocke watched in silent horror as it spread the entirety of the wall. Claw-like tendrils sprang from the main body of the shadow; they hung above Rosch's head, sharpening in the shape of a dozen blades. Stocke took a step backward despite himself, his hands curling into fists.

Rosch dropped the ball he was carrying. "What's up, Stocke? You're freaking me out. Stop it, man."

"Rosch," Stocke managed to croak—his mouth had gone so dry, "behind you. That… that _thing_ …"

"What?" Stocke's friend glanced up and down at the wall behind him. He was frowning when he turned to face Stocke again. "I don't see what you're going on about. I should get you home. You really don't seem so well."

Now the shadow's outstretched tendrils were twisting around Rosch, writhing around his sole remaining arm and tightening across his chest. Rosch's features slackened, except for a muscle jumping near the corner of his mouth. Even if he could not see them, surely, he could sense their hold on him.

Stocke hissed out a curse, backing away until his feet caught on something. He stumbled, and would have fallen down had he not grabbed the closest thing his hand could find. Stocke's fingers tightened around the object and he realized with a start that it was the railing on a hospital bed. Stocke fought the urge to rub his eyes, knowing it was not some mirage that would dissipate the instant he looked away. A monitor by the hospital bed beeped weakly, a long thin line flashing and jumping along an invisible someone's heartbeat. A bright light illuminated an operating table splashed with blood. The red dripped to the floor, where it dyed crimson the shards of glass and the scraps of twisted metal that were coiling upwards from the ground. Tire tracks ran across the gym floor, and a trail of old, dried-up blood followed the black marks. Dark memories flooded back to Stocke. In his mind's eye, Eruca's pale arm dangled from the black bag where they had put her corpse. The bile rose to his mouth, and Stocke looked away from the scene of the carnage, shaking from head to toe.

And Rosch stood amidst all of this, his eyes empty and glazed over.

The dark tendrils sank into Rosch's chest. Sweat beaded over his forehead, yet he did not move, did not utter a sound. Dark shapes slithered out of the corners of the gym. The black creatures looked the same as the ones who had attacked Stocke in that alleyway, not long ago, but their masks were purple rather than blue, the top part shaped like a crown.

The three creatures glided briefly towards Rosch, before swirling into the air, dissolving into black mist. When they came into view again, their appearance had changed. It was now a trio of fully-armored knights mounted on ghostly destriers that drifted to Rosch's side. Over their plate mail, they wore basketball jerseys in St. Noah's colours. Behind the purple masks, no hint of emotion showed.

" _Dammit!_ " Stocke's throat was tight with fear. "Rosch, get out of there!"

Rosch seemed in a daze, as if he was struggling out of a bad dream. "What? Why?"

Stocke tried to shout again, but there was a loud _clang_ as the Shadows lowered their lances, the tips directly aiming for Stocke. His stomach did a somersault when he noticed their left arms were missing.

" _Dammit!_ " Stocke growled as the ghostly knights soared towards him. He grabbed the railing of the hospital bed and shoved it, the wheels giving a screech as the bed sped towards the three Shadows. Stocke gritted his teeth and ran; out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the Shadows ram his lance into the hospital bed. The bed exploded, the metal shrieking as it twisted and splintered.

"Oh, hell no," Stocke said under his breath. He dashed into the storage room and grabbed the thing nearest to a weapon he could find—an old hockey stick. His hands tightened around the shaft. It was better than nothing, he supposed…

"S-Stocke?" The weakness of Rosch's voice nearly startled Stocke out of his skin. It was so thin, so _feeble_ , nowhere near the deep bass he'd learned to know over the past years. "W-What's going on…? I feel so… tired…"

The three knights sidled closer to Rosch, their tall forms looming over him. The greater Shadow had grown in size. Its shape was more akin to a human, now, and the top of its head was fashioned in the outline of a crown—a broken crown, with chipped or missing prongs.

 _Useless, useless, useless_ , a chorus of voices rippled across the growing vastness of the gym. _Useless broken cripple… You're useless, useless, useless…_

" _What?_ " Stocke shouted. His hands clenched so tightly around the hockey stick that his knuckles went white. "Shut the hell up! Rosch, you know that's not true!"

Rosch's eyes were blank, glassy. He said nothing.

"Snap out of it, Rosch!"

Stocke's exclamation drew the three knights' attentions back to him. Two of them turned their faceless stares towards him, and before Stocke could move or speak they charged, their lances ready to skewer him on the spot.

Stocke's feet seemed to be rooted on the ground. Was there nothing he could do? What was it that the twins had said? Something about his Persona. _Baldr,_ Stocke remembered. _His name is Baldr._

Stocke snarled at the three creatures, raising his hockey stick in a semblance of a battle stance. "Help me!" he cried. " _Persona!_ "

There was the familiar and oh-so-welcome sound of glass breaking. A circle of blue light appeared under Stocke's feet as a figure materialized in front of him. Baldr cut through the air with his fiery sword and a wall of flames flared to life, stopping the two knight-shadows in their tracks. Stocke threw up his arms in front of his face to shield himself from the heat and the blinding white light surrounding Baldr.

When the fire died down, the light dimmed as well. Stocke squinted his eyes, trying to get a better look at Baldr. _My Persona,_ he thought, his heart hammering into his chest. The red-clad warrior's hair was not golden as he had once thought; rather, each strand seemed to be made of pure shimmering flame, radiating with an innate sense of raw power. His face was obscured in shadows, the lower part hidden by the high collar of his uniform. Only his eyes, blazing like two pure blue stars, could be seen. The elegant cut of Baldr's attire brought to mind a high-ranked military officer, or rather, a soldier prince of lore, the dark red fabric offset by a trim of gold along the edges. Yet, the cloak that billowed behind him was torn and tattered in some places and a wide array of belts were fastened around his limbs. Baldr dropped into a battle stance, his shield propped forward, his sword gleaming despite the deepening darkness.

There was no hesitation as Baldr leaped forward, bringing his fiery blade down on the closest knight. The other knight thrust his lance forward, but Baldr caught it with his shield. A crack ran down the length of the weapon and the lesser Shadow staggered backward.

Stocke took the precious seconds his Persona had given him to make a run for it, heading directly towards Rosch. The latter had not moved a muscle since the battle between the Shadows and Stocke's Persona had begun. He was pale—paler than Stocke had ever seen him, the skin stretched tautly against his cheekbones, dark circles deepening beneath his blue eyes.

Stocke heard a hiss behind him and he shot to glance to where his Persona was battling the two Shadows. Baldr stood alone in triumph, the defeated forms of his two foes dissolving into black mist. Stocke turned his attention back to Rosch; only one enemy remained. _Him and whatever the hell's behind Rosch…_

Stocke took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his brow. He understood what he'd have to do. Baldr glided over to him, awaiting instructions, like the silent guardian that he was. The two exchanged a glance, but of course Stocke didn't need to voice his plan aloud. The Persona headed straight for Rosch, his blue eyes ablaze with determination. _He's me and I'm him._ It was an oddly exhilarating feeling, almost as if he saw and heard and felt the world through the senses of another.

The lesser Shadow was the final opponent Baldr had to face before he could reach Rosch. Stocke let out a curse as the knight blocked Baldr's advance, deflecting the fiery blade's trajectory with a swipe of its lance. Baldr flipped backward to avoid the weapon as the shadow thrust it forward. The Persona hadn't been fast enough; the tip of the spear grazed Baldr's side. Stocke felt a searing pain in the very same spot and he doubled over with a scream.

From his spot, Rosch twitched. "Stocke? Stocke, 's that you?" His voice was barely audible—the air was still filled with proclamations of _useless, useless, you're useless, worth nothing, nothing at all…_

Stocke struggled back to his feet, snarling despite the pain. "Dammit, you idiot! I told you not to listen to them! Think for yourself! You're not as dumb as you think you are. You hear me?"

As he finished his sentence, Baldr lunged forward, flame bursting from his sword. The blade shredded the knight Shadow's plate mail as if it were plain paper. The monster exploded in a black mist.

Stocke clutched at his side. "Is that you've been thinking through all of these years?" A part of him was shameful that he had never noticed. "Why have you never told us?"

The voices grew to a feverish pitch. _Burden, I'm a burden,_ they clamoured, _can't do anything for myself, dragging all of you down, I'm useless, useless…_

"Rosch" Stocke clamoured over the noises. "Listen to me. _Look at me!_ "

It must have taken Rosch all the strength remaining in his body, but his gaze did meet Stocke's.

"That thing behind you," Stocke said, panting, "it's _lying_. Don't listen to it, dammit!"

A bit of light was coming back to Rosch's eyes. "No… it's all me… it's all mine…" Still, he craned his neck to look behind him. Fear and shock rippled through his face as he finally saw the creature that had sunk its claws into him. Rosch opened his mouth to scream—

 _—except_ it was the Shadow that let out a shriek. The sound reverberated across the emptiness of the gym, tearing at Stocke's eardrums, making the gym equipment and the hospital furniture shake from the sheer power of the vibration. The Shadow's tendrils receded from Rosch's body and the latter tumbled forward like a puppet that had its strings suddenly cut.

"Rosch!" Stocke cried out. He ran to his friend's side, reaching for Rosch's wrist. The pulse was still there but it was faint. "Stay with me, Rosch!"

Darkness loomed over the two of them. The Shadow was now veiled by a thickening, darkening mist. Rosch's gaze focused weakly on the creature. A pair of yellow eyes peered down at him from the dark cloud.

 _Don't you want to change it? boomed_ a deep voice very much like Rosch's. The sound of it echoed in Stocke's very bones. _Don't you want to change it?_

"I… I have no idea what the hell you're talking about…" Rosch managed. "Just… make it stop… I'm so… tired…"

_I can make it go away. The pain. The anger. The humiliation. Don't you want to change it? Don't you want us to be whole again?_

Stocke tightened his hold on Rosch. "Shut _up_. Rosch, don't listen—"

Rosch's eyes widened in surprise—and in relief, Stocke was horrified to find. "Is it… possible? Can you… really…?"

There was silence from the creature. And then…

… _screeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEECH!_

Stocke's hands flew to cover his ears and he gnashed his teeth in pain. The shriek tore across the entirety of the room. The glass panels on the hospital monitors shattered into a thousand pieces, and the gym equipment was smashed against the walls. Stocke squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his jaw so he would not scream.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to see that the mist that once enveloped the creature had evaporated.

The Shadow was gigantic, standing perhaps as thrice Rosch's height. It only had three limbs—two skeletal legs that shook from under the weight of the creature's unproportionally large torso and midriff, and a single arm that was nothing but skin on bones. Dark purple veins ran across the chalk-white limb; they bulged a little every time the Shadow raised its weapon, a lance that was as tall as its own body. A metal collar was fastened around the monster's neck, hiding the lower part of its face. Other mismatched bits of armour protected its body, but the metal was rusted at places and falling apart in others. Beneath a broken crown, a mane of dirty and tangled hair covered most of the Shadow's visage; only one single golden eye managed to peer through long, unkempt bangs. Still, Stocke felt pinned down under the stare.

The left side of the Shadow's body was thicker and larger than its other half. Metal debris and shards of glass were embedded in its left shoulder and in the stump where the left arm should have been. Every time the creature moved even slightly, blood squirted out of the wounds. The Shadow would shake and shriek as the blood dripped underneath it. Stocke couldn't imagine the pain it must have been in.

Rosch's body had gone stiff. His eyes could not leave the creature facing them. His mouth was open in a soundless scream. The Shadow began its slow advance, its movements uncertain, cumbersome. Stocke could feel the ground shaking under him with every of its steps.

Stocke inhaled sharply, putting Rosch's sole remaining arm around his neck and summoning all of his strength to lift him off the ground. "Baldr!" Stocke called out. "Cover our escape!"

The silent protector did as he was bid. He charged toward the Shadow, his shield set forward at an angle to deflect the monster's incoming weapon. Stocke dragged Rosch across the floor for a few feet, before a sharp pain piercing through one of his shoulders. Wincing, he took to his knees, glancing behind him. Baldr had been knocked back as well.

"Baldr!" Stocke shouted through grit teeth. _A spell_ , he thought. _I should have him cast a spell. His sword doesn't have enough range…_

In response to Stocke's silent command, Baldr swept his sword into the air, making a wall of fire erupt from the ground. The Shadow let out a high-pitched screech, stopping dead in its tracks, but no flame managed to touch it. _Dammit!_ Stocke swore. _Still not close enough!_ Baldr was gathering the energy to cast another spell when bolts of blue began to crackle around the Shadow's large form. Stocke quickly understood what was going to happen, and he raised the hockey stick in front of him in a futile attempt to protect himself. The Shadow's lightning spell slithered its way towards him and Rosch.

There was a flash of red in front of Stocke. _Baldr!_ The spell hit the Persona right in the chest. Both he and Stocke arched backward with a single scream that seemed to come from their two mouths at once. Pain scorched through Stocke and for a moment the world went white in front of his eyes.

Stocke could hear a loud _boom-doom_ reverberating through the ground as the Shadow began to move once more. Stocke pushed himself off the floor with trembling arms. His head was swimming. He looked behind him. Rosch was on his knees, staring at the Shadow as it grew closer, his mouth hanging open as if he could not understand what was unfolding in front of his eyes.

With all his dwindling strength, Stocke crawled toward his friend. "Rosch… get out of here... Dammit, run when you still can…"

"I…" Rosch shook his head. "That thing hurt you..."

"That thing," Stocke growled, "is going to kill you if it gets its hands on you. Get up, Rosch. _Run_. I can fight it, but you can't." Stocke hoped Rosch would not hear the desperation in his voice. He wasn't even sure he would be able to land a single scratch on the creature.

"No," Rosch panted, "That thing's gonna kill _you_."

Before Stocke could reply, the large shadow of the creature was draping them both. Stocke swallowed back his fears and looked upon the Shadow with all the hate and revulsion he could muster.

 _Don't you want to change it?_ the Shadow's deep voice asked again. This time, it was slightly tremulous. The creature's torso was glistening with blood. _Don't you want to change it?_

Its long, gaunt arm was shaking from the effort of raising its lance once more. _I can make the pain go away. I know your secret desires. You want me to change it._ It keened shrilly as more blood poured out of its injuries. _You want this to end… Just like me…_

The realization hit Stocke. "The past. When you say you can change it, you mean you can change the past."

The creature threw its head backwards as it screamed. _I can't, I can't, I CAN'T change the past!_ Its golden eye was no longer fixed upon Rosch; it was now quivering madly in its socket. _But I want to change it, I NEED to change it!_

With another shriek, the Shadow raised its now bloody lance over Stocke and Rosch. _I can't change it, but I'll make you forget. It's what you want. You want it to end. You can't lie to me…_

… _I AM YOU AND YOU ARE ME._

Silver and red streaked over Stocke's head as the tip of the lance came down. Stocke cried out for help as braced himself for the impact.

Baldr came in a rush of flames. The lance skewed the brave guardian’s shoulder, yet it withstood the assault without flinching. Stocke grit his teeth—the pain was _unbearable_ —before finally screaming at the top of his lungs, _“Baldr! Get that bastard!”_

The ball of flame exploded right into the Shadow's ghoulish face. Its screeches rippled across the gym as it fell backward, the flames still licking the front of its body. Baldr shrugged off the creature's weapon and the lance dissolved into fine black mist before it could even hit the ground.

The Shadow writhed and screamed. Behind Stocke, Rosch let out a grunt. Stocke turned to see that his friend was clutching his chest.

"You're… me?" Rosch said in a weak voice. His features were twisted with anguish and shame. "Yeah… yeah, I guess so."

The Shadow was crying out in agony. Rosch, still on the ground, crept closer to Stocke. His blue eyes were soft with pity. "Dammit, I didn't think I was this pathetic," Rosch said, wobbling to his feet. Stocke immediately went to help him up. "I'm really a piece of work, ain't I?"

"No," Stocke said. "I never thought so."

Rosch smiled sadly. "Yeah?" It was a single word, yet Stocke could hear years' worth of self-hatred in his friend's voice. "Well, I think I am."

"Rosch…"

Rosch limped toward the Shadow. The creature never seemed to notice him. It was still thrashing and moaning, looking half-mad with pain.

Rosch absentmindedly touched his empty sleeve. "I kept telling people I'd gotten better. That I'd learned to live with… _this._ " He sighed. "Since everyone began to believe me, I thought it was true. When you keep telling yourself things, you start to think it's the truth, right? But I _wasn't_ right." He jutted his chin at the Shadow. "I mean, _you_ wouldn't be around, otherwise."

The creature became very still. _But you want to change it. Change it so the accident never happened…_

"'Course I'd like to change it!" Rosch all but roared. "Dammit, I'd change it in a heartbeat. But it won't happen. I'm dumb, but not that dumb." His single hand balled into a fist. "Besides, I'm still alive, which is more than I ever hoped for. I could have died, but I'm still here. I'm luckier than some people I know." He looked at his stump then to the Shadow. "So no, I _don't_ want to change it. I'm… I'm good."

His words were only met with silence for a moment. A delicate blue light surrounded the Shadow's large form.

… _thank you,_ the deep voice murmured. The blue light faded, and suddenly instead of the terrible blood-soaked creature that had been trying to kill them a mere moment ago, there stood a tall, proud-looking warrior clad in red armour. A few onyx stones were embedded in the crimson chest plate, forming the number four in old Imperial numerals. His helm was shaped like the head of a roaring lion and a thick golden man cascaded down his back. He had no left arm, but a large kite shield as tall as he was directly fastened to his stump. The Persona thrust his lance in the air in a salute before disappearing into a flicker of light.

"Tyr," Rosch said with wonder. "That's his name—wait, w-what the hell _was_ that? How did I _—whoa!_ "

Rosch had tumbled forward. Stocke rushed to catch his friend in his fall.

"What the hell was _that?_ " Rosch repeated. "What just happened?!"

"Calm down, Rosch," Stocke said. His friend was still dreadfully pale. "Tyr—well, he's your Persona, I guess."

"My _what?_ " Rosch's face screwed in pain. " _Goddammit_ , my head feels like it's about to explode… what the _hell_ …?"

"We can talk about this later," Stocke said as he helped Rosch towards the exit. "Let's just get you somewhere safe so you can rest." The trails of blood and bits of glass and debris had disappeared when the Shadow had been defeated, but the gym hadn't gone back to normal yet. The walls were still a garish shade of green and there was a lone hospital bed laying on its side next to the door. Stocke frowned; perhaps it would take some time before the Shadow's influence would be fully gone.

"Y-You don't need to carry me like that," Rosch mumbled when they were out of the gym. A bit of red was coming back to his cheeks. "What if someone sees us?"

Stocke stared at him. "Yeah? What then?"

Rosch snorted and rolled his eyes. "I forgot I was talking to you for a moment. You know, the only person in this school who's more socially inept than I am."

Stocke raised a brow but said nothing.

"Thanks, back then," Rosch finally said as they passed rows and rows of lockers. "You saved my skin, man."

"You'd have done the same for me," Stocke said bluntly. "So there's not need to thank me." It seemed to him that the corridor was stretching forever. "Actually, I should apologize." The next words were harder to say than Stocke would have believed it. "You… you were hurting and I never noticed. I never did do a damn thing about it."

"Oh, that." Rosch gave him a tired grin. "It's a bit of my fault, actually. You heard me back there. I thought that if I kept telling myself it wasn't a big deal, then I'd start to believe it. But I guess it was a bigger deal than I would have liked it to be."

"Rosch, losing an arm doesn't make you—"

"—it doesn't make me useless, no, but I sure felt like it." Rosch stopped walking. Stocke peered closely at his expression. "I'm not a bright kid and I'm not exactly good with people. And I really don't want to be a burden to my poor folks. So, I thought to go for the school team and win a scholarship, right? Then I would have gone to college and gotten myself a nice job. That's what I thought."

"Rosch, you can still—"

"— _except_ that was my second choice. The thing I really wanted to do… well, I've never even told you or Sonja."

 _Now_ Stocke was truly stunned. "What was it?"

"What I really wanted… well, I wanted to join the forces." Rosch let out a laugh. "I thought to apply to Officer School. Wouldn't have that made my folks happy? I bet my pa would have been proud. I know he's always wanted to rise higher in the ranks. But now, I know that won't happen. I won't be a soldier and I won't make the college team. So where does this leave me, huh?"

Stocke was at a loss for words. "Rosch…"

"I've had years to make peace with it, yet I never did. I still don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do with my life. I'm not like you or Sonja. What can a dumb kid like me do?"

Stocke glared at him. "Lots of things. If you call yourself dumb again, then so help me, I'll drop you here and you'll have to walk the rest of the school on your own."

Thankfully, Rosch laughed. "Got it."

They began to limp their way through the corridor again. It really seemed never-ending. And the colours on the lockers were all wrong, too, the green being the sickening shade you'd find on hospital walls. No light filtered through the windows. Stocke's heart began to beat a little faster; he could feel the blood pumping painfully against his temples. It was a good deal too early for the sun to be already gone…

"Rosch," Stocke said, tensing, "there's something wrong. Things were supposed to go back to normal after we got rid of the Shadow."

Rosch grew even paler. "Yeah… this place doesn't look the same as usual. What the hell's going on?"

There was only one explanation possible. "There's another of those. Another Shadow."

" _What?"_ Rosch said. "You mean there's another of these things going on around the school? Dammit, it could hurt someone else!"

Stocke's bangs clung to his forehead, slick with sweat. _Can I beat another Shadow? Can I really do it?_ "Yeah. We have to find it."

"And quickly, too!" Rosch seemed on the verge of a freakout. "Sonja stayed after school too, remember? She said she'd help Fennel in the labs."

"She's waiting for us," Stocke said in a thin voice. "We're supposed to drive her home."

A bit of confusion showed on Rosch's face for a moment. "No, she said Rowan was coming to get her, remember?"

Stocke was suddenly cold all over. _No, it couldn't be…_ "Rosch, Rowan can't come to get Sonja…"

"What?! Why wouldn't he _—oh_ , oh shit… oh my God, _no_ …"

The two friends exchanged the same look of sheer horror.

Sonja's brother Rowan had been dead for almost two years now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes: …this chapter was supposed to include the fight against Sonja's Shadow as well, but it got so long I had to cut here OTL Sorry for the evil cliffhanger… as always, a big thanks to my beta quicksilver-ink and to all of you readers!


	6. Arcana IV - The Emperor (part II)

_"The Empress represents motherhood and the life it brings forth. The Emperor is an opposing card. It represents fathering and relates to leadership and decision-making skills"_

_Edogawa-sensei, Persona 3._

* * *

"Shit," Rosch said. "Shit, shit, _shit!_ " He twisted himself out of Stocke's hold and limped forward, still swearing a blue streak.

Stocke easily caught up with him. "Rosch! Calm down. We're not going to help her much if we rush into things."

"So what should we do, then?" replied Rosch. "We need to reach her before that thing gets to her!"

"Maybe we should find some help." The words had barely left his mouth when Stocke realized it was impossible. They had stumbled around this hallway for far too long without meeting anyone else. Cold sweat beaded on Stocke's brow. Where had all the students and staff gone?

"Stocke!" Rosch pointed. A pair of figures with skin as pitch as tar lumbered towards them. One wore a dirtied lab coat, and its face was hidden behind a purple mask. The mask was identical to the one that had crowned the heads of the ghostly knights that had accompanied Rosch's Shadow. The other figure, dressed like a nurse, wore a crowned golden mask. The number three in old Imperial numerals was etched in the gleaming metal of the three-pronged mask.

Stocke pushed Rosch behind him. His throat tightened as he stole a glance at their surroundings. The lockers and the school posters littering the walls were gone. The paint had become a sickening shade of pale green; the colour seemed to grow even eerier under the dim and flickering light. Gurneys and wheelchairs littered the hallway. The muffled sounds of someone's voice on the intercom echoed through the empty air, although Stocke could not make out their words.

Stocke inhaled sharply. The sudden and unexplained transformation of his school was not what horrified him the most.

He _recognized_ the place.

He knew that stomach-churning shade of green, he remembered the rows and rows of hospital beds cramming up the hallway. He could recall perfectly the faint odour of sickness that clung to everything like a second skin, and the stifling sense of oppression weighing down on his shoulders.

This was the hospital that Sonja's parents ran. The hospital where her brother had spent the last months of his life.

There was a sharp intake of breath behind Stocke; Rosch had come to the same realization. "What are those things?" Stocke could hear him say. "Are they… Shadows?"

"Lesser Shadows," Stocke replied. "There's a bigger one somewhere controlling these two. Let me take care of them."

The doctor and nurse Shadows cocked their heads as he spoke. Stocke scowled; their gesture was almost insolent. He hoped that Baldr would make quick work of them. His legs were already shaking with fatigue.

The two Shadows charged at them with a shriek. Pitch-black limbs stretched forward, their hands growing in the shape of razor-sharp claws.

"You're in our way!" Stocke snarled, gathering all of his strength to summon Baldr from the depths of his soul. "Get lost!"

The fiery figure of his Persona sprang out in a flare of blue light. Flames burst forth from Baldr's sword, setting ablaze the space between him and the two charging Shadows. The Shadow in the lab coat immediately caught fire. The other made a sweeping motion with its arm and something shimmered in front of the Shadow, almost like light reflecting on a panel of glass.

And suddenly, the fireball was rebounding off an invisible barrier... and heading straight for Stocke and Baldr.

Stocke's breath caught in his throat as Baldr raised his shield. Heat scorched across his cheeks as the flames exploded on Baldr's buckler. Behind him, Rosch swore loudly.

"What the hell was that? Did that Shadow just throw your own fireball back at you?!"

Stocke wiped the sweat from his brow, himself inwardly cursing. "It seems so." He turned to Baldr. "Let's just go with the sword, then."

Baldr flew towards the nurse Shadow, readying his sword for a downward slash. Before he could reach it, however, there was a green flash, and a gust of wind suddenly rose, stopping the Persona mid-air. Stocke fought to keep to his footing. Behind him, Rosch tumbled down with a yelp.

 _What the hell was that?_ Stocke wondered. His thoughts were suddenly wrenched away by a sharp sense of burning on his right forearm. Through eyes blurry with pain, he could see that the first Shadow—the one wearing the lab coat—had managed to crawl up to Baldr, and was raising a blackened hand to grab at the Persona's arm. As he watched, its spidery fingers encircled the limb in a vice-like grip.

"Stocke!" Rosch cried out in warning.

The second Shadow was casting another spell; out of the corner of his eye, Stocke could see the green light flaring to life beneath its feet. Baldr struggled against the other Shadow's hold, bashing its head with his buckler. Stocke tightened his jaw as the green-tinted gale swept past him and Rosch. His friend screamed again, but Stocke managed to stay on his feet, staring defiantly at the creature until the wind died down.

" _Baldr!_ " Stocke shouted. "Now's your chance!"

His Persona glowed bright as a morning sun, and the Shadow that had been grappling with Baldr burst in flames from the sheer heat. The fiery figure paid it no further heed. In a matter of seconds, Baldr had swept over to the other Shadow and cleaved the creature in two with a downward stroke through its golden crown. The Shadows evaporated into black mist, and Stocke clenched a hand at his heart, panting. _Finally…_

His relief was short-lived, however. "We… we have to get going," Stocke said. "Sonja… we have to find her…"

Rosch walked up to Stocke. "D'you think she's still in the labs?"

"It's our best bet for now," Stocke said. "Let's go."

* * *

Strangely enough, despite the eerie décor, the general layout of the school didn't appear to have changed. On their way, Stocke and Rosch stumbled upon a few lone Shadows that were thankfully no match for Baldr's sword and flames. They soon reached the door that normally led to the school labs. Over the doorframe Stocke could read _'Palliative Care'_ written in a big, bold font. Rosch gave a soft curse at the sight of the two words.

"This is _so_ messed up," he said. "This Shadow thing is doing all of that? Making the school looks like that, spawning all these freaky monsters?"

Stocke gave a stiff nod. "Your own Shadow managed to make you believe you still had your other arm. There's no telling what Sonja's will be able to do."

Rosch swore again. "It made us both believe that Rowan was still alive." His face was white with disbelief and horror. " _She_ must still believe that he's alive. We're going to have to convince her that he's really gone, aren't we? How the hell are we supposed to do that?"

Stocke did not answer and only slid the door open. The sight that greeted him was not what he expected.

It was a hospital room, large and airy, with walls that were painted in shades of soft pastels. A few flowerpots had been put by the room's single bed, and they filled the air with a sweet scent. Light blue curtains caught into the breeze; from the open window, Stocke could hear the distant noises of the everyday city life. The walls were covered with family pictures, all depicting Sonja, her parents and a bespectacled young man with a wide grin. Around the family portraits were pinned the cheery, colourful scrawls of a child. All over the drawings were written the words _'get well soon, big bro!'_

Sonja was standing by the empty hospital bed, writing something on her notepad. The shadow she cast on the wall was unusually large. As Stocke and Rosch rushed into the room, it sharply turned its head to face them and extended long tendrils in Sonja's direction.

 _"You bastard!_ " Rosch roared. _"Get your filthy hands off her!_ "

Sonja gave a start, and she whirled to look at them, bringing a hand to her heart. "Rosch…?!" she gasped. "You nearly gave me a heart attack! Did you really need to scream?"

"Sonja, you've got to listen to us," Stocke said. He could feel the blood draining from his face as the Shadow's long, thin arms encircled Sonja's form, sinking into her chest. "Just… walk up here, please. Everything's fine. You don't need to be scared."

"What…?" Sonja scrunched up her face. "Is there something wrong? Why are you both acting so strange?"

"We'll explain after we're out of here," Stocke replied. "For now, just come over here. We'll get you home safe and sound."

"No," Sonja said, "I've already made plans with Rowan. He was coming after work to get me so we could go find something for my mom's birthday."

Stocke and Rosch exchanged a look of alarm.

"Don't worry 'bout that," Rosch managed, still pale. "We'll, um, we'll call him and say you're coming with us. He'll understand, right?"

Sonja herself was white as death. "But it's been so long since we've spent time together. He's so caught up with work these days. I was looking forward to it…" The Shadow's tendrils went a little deeper…

"Goddammit!" Rosch roared. To Stocke's great horror, he dashed towards Sonja, raising his fist in a futile attempt to strike the creature behind her. " _Let her go, you bastard!"_

There was a loud _snap_ , and a gale of wind came rushing, knocking both Stocke and Rosch flat on their behinds.

Sonja cried out their names. "Oh my God, w-what's going on?" She brought her hands to her mouth, her eyes growing wide with shock. "Are you two all right?" The Shadow tugged on its tendrils, drawing her away from Stocke and Rosch. Sonja gave a gasp.

Stocke jumped to his feet, Baldr appearing in a sea of blue flames next to him. Sonja let out another little exclamation.

"Don't worry, Sonja," Stocke said. "We'll get you away out of there. Just keep your cool, okay? I think that thing gets stronger if you start to freak out."

His words did not have the intended effects. Sonja struggled harder against her captor's grip, and the black tendrils tightened against her. "What is that _thing?_ Get it off me!" she screamed. "What _are_ you?"

She looked at the mist behind her, and gasped when a pair of golden eyes suddenly appeared to meet her horrified gaze.

 _You want to change it, don't you?_ a soft, lovely voice resounded through the peaceful quietness of the room. _You want to believe in my lies... I can see it in your heart…_

"W-What lies?" Sonja said. Her voice was desperately tiny—childlike, even.

The words left Stocke's mouth before he could even think to stop them. "Sonja, your brother is gone. He's been dead for more than two years. Don't you _remember?"_ He tried to sound soothing, gentle, but a hint of desperation still crept into his tone.

Sonja's eyebrows rose slowly. "What…? _No…_ " She shook her head, her features contorted with disgust. "Stocke, that's a terrible thing to say! Why would you say something like that?"

"But it's true!" Rosch said. He reached out to Sonja with a trembling hand. "I wouldn't want to believe it myself, but it is. Don't listen to that crap! That thing's trying to hurt you!"

" _NO!_ " Sonja cried out. She screwed her eyes shut and hugged her small frame. "Stop it! Go away! Just… just leave me _alone!_ "

The clear, sunny sky outside of the window turned pitch black. The room seemed to shrink, the air growing heavy and oppressive. The family portraits and drawings hanging on the walls twisted and blackened, the pictures scorched by an unseen flame. And once again, the shadow on the wall was lost in a deepening black mist.

The wind rose once more, sending the flowerpots smashing on the floor and on the walls. Stocke would have fallen off his feet if not for Baldr's timely intervention. Stocke desperately clung to his Persona's extended arm, feeling the guardian's innate heat through the layers of his uniform. Rosch was not so lucky; he had barely made back to his feet when he was knocked down again. Stocke could see him twisting in pain on the ground.

 _"Rosch!_ " Stocke could not say more; the force of the wind was making him dizzy. He could barely see the mist dissipating from around Sonja. Squinting his eyes, he managed to make out the outlines of her Shadow. With a jolt, he realized that it was even more enormous than Rosch's Shadow had been.

The wind finally fell, and Stocke's mouth went dry when he saw what it left in its wake. Sonja's Shadow was completely draped in black cloth. Its hands were pressed together in a mockery of a prayer, her arms gleaming silver; they appeared more like the metallic limbs of a robot rather than something belonging to a living being. Beneath its veil, the Shadow's hair was longer than the length of its own body and black as night. It fell in loose strands over its shoulders, except for a few locks that writhed around Sonja, holding her limp body a few feet above the ground. Sonja's eyes were closed. She only seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

Rosch's anguished scream tore through the room. "No! She's not… _she's not_ …"

A few figures materialized in front of Rosch's fallen form, and soon a dozen masked Shadows in lab coats and nurse uniforms were taking shambling steps towards him. Stocke's heart skipped a beat.

"Baldr!" Stocke commanded. "Protect him, quick!" Stocke himself ran as quickly as he could behind the Persona. Baldr glided towards the closest purple-masked Shadow, Stocke silently ordering him to stop its advance with a spell. As the heat of the explosion filled the room, Stocke slid to Rosch's side, heart pounding in his ribcage.

"You okay?" Stocke asked Rosch as he helped him back to his feet.

"Yeah," Rosch panted. "I'm good…" He flinched as a Shadow in front of them burst in flames. "How… how can we get to her?"

"I'll have to take care of the small fry, first," Stocke said, jutting his chin at the assembly of lesser Shadows standing between them and Sonja. "You must be still weak from the previous fight, so don't push yourself too hard—"

"Dammit, Stocke!" Rosch growled. "I've got one of these Persona things too. I can fight! I just don't know how!"

Stocke clapped him on the back. "I can't help you there. I dunno how mine works most of the time." Rosch gave him an incredulous look as Stocke shot him a wry grin. "Call on the powers of your heart or whatever."

Stocke's smile flittered away as quickly as it had come. Despite all of his best efforts, Baldr could not evade the onslaught of grasping, clawed hands. For every creature he cut down, another sprung out from the black material that veiled Sonja's Shadow from head to toe. The effort was soon too much for Stocke's already weakened body; he grunted in pain and his knees buckled from under him. Rosch caught him before he fell.

Another burst of wind gusted at Stocke and Rosch, and Baldr leaped forward to shield them from the brunt of the assault. Stocke's head was swimming. The pain was so intense he only wanted to close his eyes and—

"Stocke!" he could hear Rosch's voice shouting in his ears. Stocke could barely make out his friend's features from the blur in front of his eyes. Darkness swirled by the edge of his vision. "Dammit, Stocke, your Persona just disappeared! What do we do?! Stay with me, dammit! Stocke! _STOCKE!_ "

Dark shapes loomed over the two of them. Stocke opened cracked lips, but only a small hiss escaped his mouth. _Am I going to die?_

He had died, once. It hadn't been that painful… He only needed to close his eyes and—

"Get the hell away from us!" Rosch was yelling. "You won't get him! Get lost!"

A hundred sets of claws rose above their heads, before coming down in a blur of black and white. Stocke could feel Rosch's rib cage shaking as his friend roared.

Blue light burst in front of them, bright like a midday sky. An armoured figure rose amidst a circle of lightning crackling on the ground. The red knight pushed back the incoming attackers with its shield and knocked them down with its lance. The creatures fizzed out of existence, leaving only Rosch's Persona—Tyr, yes, that was his name—standing alone within the now vanishing black fog.

"I did it!" Stocke heard Rosch say. "C'mon, now go get Sonja! Quick! _Quick!_ "

Stocke weakly focused on the red figure soaring up above, its crimson standing in stark contrast to the deepening darkness of Sonja's Shadow. Black tendrils shot forward from under the Shadow's veil, sharp and thin as the edge of a sword. Rosch screamed as dozens of blades stabbed Tyr, but the Persona pushed onward, not stopping until it had impaled the main body of the Shadow with its lance.

With a screech, the creature retracted its long tendrils back to its body. Stocke could see the black locks slithering away from Sonja's torso. She gave the slightest of frowns as her body began to slide downward.

Rosch howled as her limp form plummeted to the ground. Tyr pulled out his lance from the greater Shadow and bolted towards Sonja. She was a hair's breadth away from a nasty crash that would have definitely crushed her skull when he scooped her with his arm, halting her fall. Rosch choked down a cry as the Persona glided over to them, carrying Sonja in a tight, but tender embrace.

It took all the strength Stocke still had to break out of his friend's hold so the Persona could lay Sonja in Rosch's lap.

"S-She's not moving," Rosch panted. "D-dammit, is she… _is she_ …?"

At the sound of Rosch's voice, Sonja knitted her brows, a little whine escaping her lips. Warmth pooled in Stocke's gut; he had never been so happy to see someone's frown.

Rosch's cheeks were glistening with tears. "Oh my God, oh my God, _oh my God_ …"

Their happiness was short-lived. A sudden burst of wind sent ripples along the Shadow's cloak and chills down Stocke's spine. From the black fabric crawled out more monstrous nurses and doctors. Rosch let out a scrambled curse.

Sonja's eyes fluttered open. "W-What… what's going on? What… what are these… _things?_ "

Stocke breathed in and out, slowly, trying to find the right words. "Nothing you should worry about," he managed despite his dizziness. "Rosch and me, we'll take care of it…"

"Yeah," Rosch trailed off. Sweat poured off his brow, mingling with the trails of tears along his cheeks. In front of him, Tyr dropped into a defensive stance, his large shield propped forward. Despite his size, he seemed dwarfed by the sheer amount of Shadows crawling towards him. "We'll... we'll do that."

Sonja looked at Stocke, narrowing her eyes. "Stocke can… Stocke can… _heal_ us…" she mumbled.

"Wait, _what?_ " Rosch said. "Whaddya mean, _heal_ us?"

Sonja licked cracked lips. "Dia… yes, the name of the spell is… _Dia_ …"

"Dia…" Stocke repeated in a murmur.

At the sound of the word, Baldr flared to life by his side with the sharp _snap_ of breaking glass. A soft purple light enveloped Stocke, and a sudden warmth spread through his limbs. With a gasp, Stocke sprang forward. His vision was clearer than ever, and the ache weighing down his body was finally gone.

His heart gave a start as he heard Rosch choked back a yelp. Tyr was fighting to hold back the horde of Shadows, but he was faltering. Soon, his defenses would fail…

"Baldr!" Stocke commanded. "Cast Dia on him, too!"

The purple light surrounded Rosch. Stocke watched as his friend's shoulders squared and his spine straightened. Mouth gaping, Rosch looked at Stocke, his eyes cleared of the haze of fatigue and pain that had been plaguing him since he'd fought his own Shadow. "What the _hell?!_ " he said to Stocke. "You can do that?!"

Stocke gave a weak smile. "Apparently." His head still ached slightly. "But I think I'm spent when it comes to spells."

Rosch's own face broke into a wavering grin as Tyr skewered the lesser Shadows with renewed vigour. "Alright! We'll just beat them up, then!"

Sonja stirred in Rosch's hold. "They're… they're weak to physical attacks, anyway…"

"Wait, what?" Rosch replied, sounding slightly bemused. "Like bashing in their skulls and stuff? How do you know that?" He then snorted. "Well, who cares? Let's get this over with!"

Despite the cold fear still flowing through his veins, Stocke answered with a determined "Yeah!"

The two red-clad Personas rose together and swept through the assembly of Shadows with their weapons, slashing and stabbing every creature that was unfortunate enough to crosstheir path. Rosch's roars of encouragement grew in intensity and confidence as more and more enemies dissolved into black mist, giving high-pitched screeches as their forms twisted in pain before disappearing.

Stocke wished he could share his friend's optimism. The shambling nurses and doctors fell to Baldr and Tyr's blows like flies, yet they kept on coming. And worst of all, Sonja's Shadow continued to loom over the whole of the room, its veil fluttering as if caught on an imperceptible wind. Sonja's breathing was erratic, and her face was white as bone. She was not watching the fight; it quickly dawned on Stocke that she would not even look in the general direction of her Shadow.

 _Of course_ , Stocke realized. _It's obvious… how could have I been so blind?_ His chest clenched painfully as he recalled what the twins' words.

 _Much like a Persona, a Shadow comes from someone's heart_ , Lippti had said. _To defeat a Shadow, you must first gain the assistance of the person from whom it was borne. Once they claim the Shadow as their own, its powers can be nullified._

Rosch had grown to accept the death of his dreams; how could Stocke convince Sonja to come back to a world where her beloved brother was gone?

Stocke inhaled deeply before he could find the strength to address Sonja. "Hey," he called out to her. "Sonja." She reacted a bit to her name, but did not move. "Sonja, look at me."

Both of Sonja and Rosch's gazes fell upon Stocke.

"Sonja, that thing…"

Sonja hugged her knees to her chest. "This is… this is just a nightmare… I'll wake up and this will all be…"

"No, Sonja," Stocke said gently. "This isn't a dream. This monster's real. And we need your help to defeat it."

"What…?" Rosch began but Stocke shushed him with a look.

"I'm sorry, Sonja," Stocke continued, "but Rowan's dead. I know you remember it." And how could she not? Rowan had wasted away for a good six months before the chemo and the transfusions and the marrow transplants had finally failed him. It was hard, sometimes, to think of the man and not see the bag of bones he'd become toward the end. Stocke was ashamed to admit what little he remembered of Sonja's brother faded a bit more with each passing month. It wouldn't be long, now, and he would not even remember the man's voice.

_Is it going to be the same when I die…?_

Sonja shook her head; the movement was so slight Stocke almost didn't see it. "Stop saying such horrible things, Stocke. Stop it."

" _Stocke_ …" Rosch said warningly.

Stocke ignored him. "That thing doesn't want you to remember, Sonja. And it's not doing this out of the goodwill of its heart. Listen to me. It's hard, but I know you can do it."

He could not see the large Shadow's eyes from under the veil _—did it have eyes to begin with?_ —but he knew the creature was watching him closely. Any moment now, it would realize the threat posed by his words—

With a shrill cry, the veiled Shadow went on the offensive. More black shapes oozed out its cloak, rushing forward to claw at Baldr and Tyr. The long tendrils of the Shadow's hair snapped at the two Personas like wire-thin whips, the sharp edges biting through Baldr's uniform and Tyr's armour. Stocke was biting down a cry of pain when he noticed the light flaring under Sonja's Shadow.

"It's about to cast a spell—" Stocke shouted, but it was too late. A violent gale tore through the room. Stocke ground his teeth together as Baldr endured, but Rosch and Tyr were not so fortunate. The armoured Persona was blown away, his large form breaking and scattering in a thousand bits of light. Rosch's hold on Sonja slackened, and he slumped on the ground, wheezing.

Sonja gave a little sound of distress. Stocke dropped to his knees to check on the two of them. "Rosch! You alright, there?"

Rosch's gaze was unfocused, but he managed a grin for Stocke. "'S fine. Never been better."

"Wind spells," Stocke heard Sonja say in a weak voice. " _Garu_ … you're not good against Garu spells, Rosch."

Once again, Rosch gaped at her. "What's Garu? How do you know that?"

Stocke didn't care how or why Sonja knew that. Now, only Baldr remained to protect them from the ever-growing numbers of smaller Shadows, and Stocke knew his Persona's strength was starting to falter.

"Sonja," he said, "do the Shadows have weaknesses too?"

Sonja bit down her lip; Stocke realized she did not want to look at the creatures. _Of course she wouldn't_ , Stocke thought, disgusted with couldn't begin to imagine the shame and loathing Rosch and Sonja must have felt at the sight of these things. _I wouldn't last ten seconds against my own Shadow..._

"It's…" The words were said so softly Stocke could barely hear them. "It's lightning. She's weak against lightning. _Zio_."

"Lightning?" Stocke said. His heart was pounding in his ears. All his hopes were going down the drain. "Baldr can't cast lightning spells."

"But _Tyr_ can," said Rosch. He gently pushed Sonja into Stocke's arms. "I'll take care of this. I'm tired of being so damn _useless_."

"Rosch—" Stocke began.

"I know what you're gonna say, man," Rosch replied. "And I'm gonna prove you _right_." He rose to his feet and shouted, "Tyr! Give 'em hell!"

In a flash of blue, the red knight was back, twirling his great lance in one hand with a dexterity that Stocke wouldn't have thought possible of one so huge. The smell of ozone filled the air. Arcs of lightning sprang from the weapon, racing down the length of the room. The blue energy caught the Shadow in the chest, sending bolts of azure across its body. Stocke could see the light reflecting in Sonja's widening eyes as her Shadow twisted in pain.

While Tyr prepared another spell, Baldr hacked and slashed every Shadow that tried to approach him. Amidst the noises of battle, Stocke heard a soft sob. He looked down at Sonja, an invisible hand squeezing his heart.

"That thing," she said softly. "I _created_ it, didn't I? This is all happening because I can't get a grip on myself."

Stocke shook his head. "You did nothing wrong. It's not your fault."

Sonja's Shadow let out a shrill wail as another bolt came down on its now writhing form.

"It's been so long!" Sonja whispered. "I thought I'd already gone through this. Why can't everything just go back to _normal?_ It's been long enough. I've got other things to worry about, like keeping up good grades and doing good on the entrance exams and—" She made a small noise of disgust. "I can't spare any time to go through the motions again. It's been long enough."

Stocke had nothing to say. Back when he lived in Granorg, he'd been filled with so much rage and shame (and fear, yes, though back then, he wouldn't have admitted it in a thousand years) that he'd often felt like nothing else could squeeze in - not the things he'd learn at school, not the simple everyday joys he'd often taken for granted, _nothing_. He could not count the numbers of times the teachers had called his mother, griping to her about his _grades_ and how _inattentive_ he was in class and _have you considered therapy?_

"Give it some time," was all Stocke could think of. "You've been doing great." _Is that the best I can do? Spout that kind of inane crap at her…?_

"I've _worked_ on my grief." Now Sonja sounded angry. "I did everything I was told to do. So why am I still stuck in Stage 1?"

"I don't know," Stocke said, and it was true. "I've wondered the same thing myself."

Somehow, his words seemed to have struck a chord within her. Sonja looked up at him, her lips slightly parted. Stocke could almost see the cogs grinding in her head.

"Me too!" Rosch shouted to them, panting. Throughout Stocke's conversation with Sonja, Tyr had battled with the horde of Shadows. It seemed to Stocke that their numbers were dwindling. "I'm the same! I mean, sometimes I feel like I've made some progress, but then it turns out that I've just gone back two steps."

"Me too," Stocke echoed Rosch's words. "You've done better than I would have done in your shoes, in any case."

"Yeah!" Rosch agreed. "You're the smartest, nicest, prettiest girl I've ever met! You'll get through this! I know you will!"

Sonja was silent for a moment. Then she said, "Stocke… can you help me up?"

"Of course." He supported her as she rose to her feet. Stocke remained close as she wobbled towards her Shadow. She barely flinched when Baldr dispatched the last nurse with a quick jab. She waited until the black mist was fully gone before finally raising her eyes to the veiled creature standing before her.

"I guess I've been lying to myself all this time, haven't I?" Sonja said. "I'm just so… _tired_." She sighed. "Last year—and the one before that, too—well, everything was just _horrible_. I just couldn't do anything right… it felt as if just getting out of bed was enough to drain all of my energy. I thought that maybe if I just shoved everything behind me and pretended it wasn't there, it would help. I thought it would make me able to function _normally_." She looked a little contrite. "It was just too much to ask, huh?"

Stocke shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

"Me neither," Rosch said. "But maybe you're just too hard on yourself."

"Maybe," Sonja said. She looked at the Shadow, her expression part resentment, part defiance. "I miss my brother and I wish he was back. There, I said it. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

There was silence, then: _But…_ _don't you want to change it?_ The Shadow's voice was gentle, sorrowful.

"I can't, now, can I?" Sonja said. She pinched the bridge of her nose and inhaled deeply. "Even if I wish things were different a thousand times over, it won't change anything. I can only go forward." A funny little smile played on her lips. "Even if it means taking detours to get where I want."

"Exactly!" Rosch said. "It doesn't matter how long it takes you as long as you get there. _I_ would know. I've been taking things slow enough myself."

Sonja patted his shoulder with a fond look. She then turned to face her Shadow, her lips drawn in a thin line.

"It's funny, isn't it?" she said. "If I apologize to you, I guess it's as if I apologize to myself. So… I'm sorry."

Already the Shadow was bathed in a soft blue glow. For a moment, the glare grew so intense that Stocke found himself squinting. Finally, the light diminished.

Sonja's Persona was dressed in flowing white robes that were cinched at the waist with a red corset inlaid with bronze trimming. Her face was covered by a veil held in place by a gleaming circlet. Instead of hair, her head was covered by roots tumbling down her shoulders and back. Flowers and leaves were weaved through the wooden tresses. Her hands met together in front of her heart, clasped in silent prayer. Her arms gave a metallic sheen as sunlight caught on her bronze skin.

"Hlín..." Sonja breathed as the figure scattered in hundreds of bits of light. She spun her feet to look at Stocke and Rosch. She seemed so giddy Stocke couldn't help but smile back at her. She was giggling when her legs gave away under her.

Both Stocke and Rosch leaped to catch her before she fell. Tears were coming out of Sonja's eyes, but she continued to laugh. Soon, even Rosch was letting out a few tired chuckles.

The three of them sat huddled on the floor, Sonja seated between her two friends. Stocke's gaze never left Sonja and Rosch as the two cried and laughed themselves to a stupor. At the edges of his vision, something shimmered. Stocke swept a glance over his surroundings; the hospital room was gone. Instead, he found only the high counters and sinks of the school science labs. Everything was back to normal.

Sonja grabbed Stocke's arm, humming softly as she brought him and Rosch into a hug. Stocke was relieved to see she had stopped crying.

"Thanks, guys. I always knew I could count on you both."

"Of course you can," Stocke said, just as Rosch exclaimed, grinning, "Hell yeah, you can!"

There was a hint of something mischievous gleaming in Sonja's eyes. " _Prettiest_ , huh?"

Rosch turned scarlet. "Of all the crap we said, _that's_ the thing you bring up?"

"Let a girl have her moment, Rosch," Sonja said, giving him a coy look. Stocke pointedly looked away. _Poor Rosch looks like he wants to crawl under the floor._ And of course she was enjoying every second of it.

Before Stocke could attempt an escape, the door slid open. Fennel, the science teacher, wheeled himself in, stopping to gape at the three teenagers sitting under the window by his desk.

"What _on_ earth?" the man said, pushing his glasses up his big, potato-shaped nose. He was the oldest of the faculty, with a bald head that shone with sweat and a double chin that wobbled every time he talked. "Ms. Silverberg, Mr. Stocke, what are you doing? Sitting on the floor is hardly proper lab protocol." He hadn't recognized Rosch, of course. It was known among the student body that Fennel didn't remember the names of most of his students; only those who happened to be in his advanced courses had this dubious honour.

Stocke didn't know how to answer. Next to him, Sonja gave a little wheeze, then a giggle. It didn't take long for her to be lost in laughter again.

"Is there…" Fennel began, "is there something wrong? Why is she _laughing?_ "

Rosch was still red as a fire hydrant. Sonja was making these cute little snorts as she laughed. Stocke looked quickly from one to the other and concluded he'd have to take control of the situation. He hoisted Sonja up to her feet and turned to address Fennel.

"She's been feeling pretty beat up these days," Stocke told him. "The upcoming exams worked up her nerves a bit, I think."

Rosch stood up as well. "Yeah! Yeah, that's it!"

" _Heehee!_ " Sonja said. "Y-Yes, w-with some r-rest, I'll b-be fine."

"Sorry for bothering you, sir," Stocke said. He then murmured to Sonja's ear, "Let's get you home before the guy thinks you're high on some illicit substance."

Outside the labs, everything seemed to be the same as usual. Classes were over for the day, but the occasional straggling student or staff member still roamed the school. They gave strange looks to the trio standing with linked arms in the hallway outside the labs. Stocke didn't care. From the windows, the late afternoon sun shone brightly, bathing the school courtyard in a warm glow. And nowhere in sight could a Shadow be found.

A part of Stocke wanted nothing more to go back home and lay down in bed for a well-earned rest, homework be damned. The other part… well, he wasn't so sure, but it seemed to be content with just standing there with a blissfully stupid smile.

"You two," Sonja said, squeezing both of their arms, "you're both coming with me. I'm _so_ gonna buy you dinner."

"Sonja—" Rosch said.

"Tut- _tut!_ " Sonja cut him off. "Where would you like to go?"

"If you let Rosch choose," Stocke said, "we're gonna end up at the cheapest hamburger stand on the block."

Sonja scrounged up her nose—she was one for salads and tofu. "Well, if that's what he wants…"

"Dammit, she _really_ is serious!" Rosch said with a grin. "Who knew that a narrow escape from death would be the thing to make her fall under the sway of evil fast food corporations?"

Sonja swatted Rosch's arm, but she was smiling. "I'm encouraging them just this _one_ time. I'm not making a habit out of this, not even for you."

Stocke snorted. These two were dumb, sometimes. _Most_ of the time, even. "That's fine by me," he said. "I wouldn't mind a hot-dog or two."

Stocke didn't even really like hot-dogs; he just knew he'd be happy to eat about anything if it meant being with these two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I must really thank quicksilver-ink for making this chapter less of a mess. Oof, why is English so hard...?


	7. Arcana V - The Hierophant

_"It is indeed a precious gift to understand the forces that guides oneself."_

_Nyx Avatar, Persona 3._

* * *

Stocke realized where he was by scent first—he'd noticed in his prior visits just how _wrong_ the place smelled. He breathed in deeply. It… didn't have a smell, in fact. Considering he was not physically present in the chair where he was currently seated, he supposed it made sense.

He was thus not surprised when he opened his eyes to see a familiar trio in front of him.

Igor greeted him with his characteristic creepy grin. "Welcome, my boy. It is good to see that you've overcome all the hurdles that have been thrown your way."

Stocke closed his eyes with a groan. On the back of his eyelids it seemed as if he could still see Baldr fighting the terrifying figures of Rosch and Sonja's Shadows. It had already been one week since they'd defeated the two creatures, but Stocke still could not think of them without shuddering. He puffed out a slow exhalation through his nose before opening his eyes once more. "Hurdles. Yeah…"

"And in the process, you've gained two allies," Lippti said.

Stocke's fingernails sank into the velvety material of the armrests. "No. I'm not involving these two in this mess. They've already been through enough crap."

Teo lifted a brow. "You would deprive yourself of a precious aid, then. You cannot face this alone."

Stocke rolled his eyes. He could easily imagine Rosch or Sonja saying something similar.

"You know your friends would tell you the same," Lippti continued, almost as if she could hear his thoughts. "You have faced and defeated two Shadows… but your true enemy is human. They will not give up as easily."

"And humans are much more dangerous than Shadows," Teo said. "Shadows wish people no harm: they simply lash out against the outside world so they can be heard, so they can be _seen_. But whoever stole the Black Chronicle might have no qualm about hurting you."

Stocke crossed his arms against his chest, wondering for the umpteenth time just what he had gotten himself into. Rather than voice his thought aloud, he asked, "That time-loop thing… was it the White Chronicle acting up? It kept sending me to the recent past so I could find and destroy the two Shadows, right?"

Something indecipherable flickered in the twins' amber gazes. "You could say that, yes," Teo finally answered in an even voice.

Stocke swallowed back the first reply that came to his mind. _Why are they lying to me?_

"I see. I gotta watch out for more of these repetitions, then?"

"Indeed," said Teo. "Since you hold the White Chronicle, only you will be able to see the little cracks in the Shadows' make-believe worlds."

"And so it will be your task to guide your friends through these ordeals," his sister added.

Igor chuckled. "I do not doubt you will succeed, my boy. You are very perceptive. Much more than you give yourself credit for, at least."

"Heh," Stocke said, "I don't think so." His response only made Igor cackle louder. Despite his misgivings, Stocke found himself smiling and shaking his head.

"Ah, now that's better," Igor said. "I was starting to think that nothing could ever bring a smile to that face."

Stocke snorted. "You reminded me of someone I know for a moment. You two laugh the same way." Igor even looked like an older and more demented version of Uncle Heinrich, although Stocke would never admit it to the latter. The man wouldn't take the comparison well, Stocke was sure.

"I guess I'll need to gather some more info, then," said Stocke. "If that thing used to be in my father's possession, then it might have been used before. Same goes for the Black Chronicle."

A precedent string of unexplained comas was bound to not go unnoticed. Stocke sighed. _Great_. _Investigating_ _all that crap will just take up more time that should have been spent studying._ The exams of the preceding weeks had gone terribly. Stocke knew he'd have to be more careful in the future. If his grades happened to slip up, his family would start to notice the weird (and dangerous) turn his life had just happened to take.

"The White Chronicle has been used several times before, yes," Lippti replied. "The Black Chronicle, on the other hand…"

"It's never been used, then?" Stocke asked.

"It's…" Lippti hesitated. "It's a bit more complicated than that."

"If the Black Chronicle has been used, then we would have no way of knowing it," said Teo.

Stocke's brows furrowed. "What? Why?"

"It's because of the very way the two Chronicles operate," Lippti said. "The White Chronicle shapes the future."

"But the Black Chronicle _changes_ the past," finished Teo. "It is a more powerful tool by a large margin. She gives her bearer the ability to reach any point in time… and from there, they can create an entire new timeline, an entire new _world_ , without anyone else knowing the better."

Stocke couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What? That's ludicrous!"

"The Black Chronicle is also notoriously difficult to awaken," Teo said, "hence why so far we believe she had rarely been used." His expression grew grim. "Hence why people might resort to dreadful means to obtain this power."

"Great. Just… _great_." Stocke was sure he was going to wake up with a headache. "So the chances of me finding that whacko and just convincing them to give me the book dwindled to near zero."

"I am sorry," Teo said. "I wish things were different."

Lippti bowed her head. "We will support you to the best of our abilities."

"Indeed we will," Teo added. "But for now you should just wake up, Stocke."

The non-sequitur threw off Stocke. "What? What do you mean?"

A loud _thud!_ snatched Stocke out of his blue-tinted dreamworld. He snapped upward in his chair—his hard, cheap plastic chair—and gulped down to loosen the twist in his throat. Thankfully enough, it took him but a second to gather his thoughts and realize just where he happened to be. His classmates gaped at him—Sonja's expression in particular could have been comical in another situation. And right next to Stocke's desk, the young, wiry red-haired man looming over him could only be—

"Finally, you deign to join us, Mr. Stocke," quipped Selvan, the social studies teacher. "Surely you know the answer to my question, since you feel confident enough about the topic that you sleep through class."

Stocke stared at the teacher and sat a little straighter in his plastic chair. The class was so silent one could hear a pin drop.

"Then, again, I might be overestimating your understanding of the material," Selvan continued. "Your exam result shows as much."

Stocke's mouth went bone dry. The gazes of the other students were hot on his back. Stocke's friends, however, were instead glaring daggers at the teacher. Sonja in particular looked ready to murder the man on the spot.

"I'm sorry, sir," Stocke managed to articulate. "It won't happen again."

"Mm," Selvan said with a shrug. "Another teacher told me it's not the first time you've been inattentive during class. I guess you've earned yourself a detention. Tomorrow after school, then."

Stocke stiffened. He'd never had detention before. "Sir, I have work tomorrow evening and—"

"Not my problem," Selvan interrupted. He turned his back to Stocke and continued to stroll down the aisle, droning about the delicate power balance of the first democratic government of Granorg. Stocke could barely find in himself the will to give a crap. When the mealtime bell rung out, he all but bolted out of his seat, not even giving the teacher a backward glance as he left the classroom.

"That jerk!" Sonja cried as they reached their lockers. "You should contest this, you know. You usually only get detention after a couple of repeated offenses, I mean!"

"Yeah!" Rosch said. "And what was that bullshit about your exam result, huh? Man, that guy pisses me off!"

Stocke sighed as he grabbed his lunchbox. "It's okay, guys. Calm down." Usually, he would have indeed tried to challenge such a blatant misuse of power, but now… now, he was simply too tired to care. "Let's not make a fuss about this. We have bigger fish to fry, after all."

As his sentence came to an end, he gave a surreptitious glance to his right. Sonja and Rosch followed his gaze. They all could see the fuzzy shape of a lesser Shadow as it crept towards some poor kid trying to open his locker. The thing had been thoroughly thrashed, the work of bullies, no doubt. Sonja hid her mouth with her hands, distressed, while Rosch noticeably paled. Stocke had almost been relieved when he'd realized they could see the Shadows as well. After nearly a month of thinking he was going mad, it was a welcome reprieve.

They chose a lone, forgotten table at the edge of the cafeteria and spoke in hushed tones as they ate. Occasionally, Sonja would freeze as a student passed by; she would then goggle at them in a strange and decidedly un-Sonja manner.

"Uh, Sonja?" Stocke asked her. "Is there something wrong? You've been pretty… out there since we've left class."

His words startled her. She turned to gawk at Stocke. "Oh!" Sonja said. "Oh, I guess I'm being a little weird, yes."

Rosch and Stocke exchanged a look.

"Care to, um, explain, then?" the latter said.

Sonja flushed, her lips curling in a sheepish grin. "It's hard to understand, even for me, but… with Hlín—my Persona, I mean—I can sorta see, um, _things?_ "

"That's," Stocke said, "well, that's not very… _specific_."

Sonja let out a groan. "I mean, like information and stuff. I just can't make heads or tails of it."

"What kind of information?" Rosch said as he slurped down his noodles.

Sonja hesitated for a moment, before she answered, "Well, Hlín tells me, um, what kind of Arcana people have."

"Arca-what?" Rosch asked, the same time Stocke said, "Arcana? Like in tarot?"

"Yes," Sonja clarified. "Hlín seems to associate some people with a specific tarot card. Like the social studies teacher, Selvan. She tells me he's a Hierophant. It's the fifth Arcana."

"Oh." Rosch gulped down his mouthful of noodles. "Okay."

"With some other people, I don't see anything. Like your uncle, Stocke. He doesn't seem to have an Arcana. Most people are like that, actually."

Stocke shrugged. "What it's supposed to mean?"

"I honestly don't know," Sonja answered. She looked at Rosch. "I know that you're the Emperor and that I'm the Empress. I think it's got something to do with Personas."

"What about, Stocke?" Rosch asked. "What's his Arcana?"

Once again, Sonja appeared to hesitate. "It's number 12. The, um…" She averted her eyes from Stocke. "The Hanged Man."

* * *

Stocke immediately headed to work when classes ended. His shift would not start for another hour, but staying at school to do his homework had not been an option for the better part of a month now. It was hard being productive when you knew some soul-sucking monsters were watching your every move from the shadows.

Thankfully, no shadowy abomination thought to stalk Stocke as he made his way to the bookstore. In fact, since his first monstrous encounter nearly one month ago, he never stumbled on another Shadow outside of the school grounds. The streets and alleyways were instead filled by kids playing and roughhousing. Stocke remembered that there was an elementary school nearby—across the street from the bookstore where he worked, in fact.

As he turned a corner, closing in to his destination, Stocke caught sight of a group of squabbling elementary schoolers.

"What's taking her so long?" one girl grumbled. "Why can't we just go?"

"We told her we'd be here," answered one of her friends. "Wait, isn't that her?"

Across the street, another elementary-school-aged girl was lingering on the sidewalk. She looked both sides of the road before scurrying toward her friends. Stocke noticed the horns protruding out of her head and her long, pointed ears. Her emerald hair was bunched up in thick pigtails. _A Satyros_ , Stocke noted. That was rare. There weren't a lot of Celestian denizens living in Alistel.

"There you are!" one of the girls exclaimed as the Satyros child reached their midst. "What took you so long?"

The Satyros glanced down at her hooved feet. "I couldn't find my pencil case," she said, her little face scrunching up in a frown. "I'm sure somebody stole it."

None of her friends seemed particularly interested in her excuse. "Why would anybody steal your pencil case?" another of the girls asked. "You probably just dropped it somewhere. You've always been a bit scatterbrained, Aht."

The girl called Aht gave no reply. As he passed next to her, Stocke offered the kid a sympathetic glance. In response, she gaped at him. Stocke could still feel her gaze on him as he walked away.

"I'm starving!" he heard one of the girls say. "Let's go get something to eat!"

"Aw, but I don't have any money," another whined.

"Just ask Aht," a third girl said. "She can repay you later, right, Aht?"

There was a silence, then: "I can't!" said the Satyros. "I'm trying to save up my allowance to buy a book that came out this week!"

Her friends gave a collective groan. "Come on, Aht, don't be stingy!" the first girl said. "Your family's loaded! I'm sure your uncle would buy you the book if you just asked!"

Stocke was too far away to hear Aht's response. As he pushed the door to the bookstore, he sighed. _Some things never change, huh…?_ At that age, kids could be such a pain. He was glad that his elementary and middle-school days were far behind him.

Mr. and Mrs. Norton, his two bosses, welcomed him with benevolent smiles. They understood right away when Stocke told them that he'd be stuck in detention after school the next day.

"It's okay, don't beat yourself up over this," Mr. Norton said. "You could always come in a little late. At least so you can grab a bite before your shift starts."

His wife gave a wobbly little nod to show her approval. "You're such a good, hardworking boy, Ernst, my dear. Don't you worry about us."

"No," Stocke said, shaking his head, "I'll try to come in at the hour you asked. I'll just get something from the convenience store next door for dinner."

Mrs. Norton gave him an affectionate pat on the back. "If you say so, sweetie. Don't push yourself too hard, now."

The rest of the night passed by at a snail's pace. Still, it was a welcome respite from the hustle and bustle that now filled Stocke's life. He never particularly liked interacting with the customers at the bookstore, but now they seemed liked the purest of pure angels compared to the _things_ that awaited him each morning at school. Unholy abominations made of pure darkness were a bit more intimidating than the resident put-upon suburbanites and the occasional self-proclaimed intellectuals, after all.

The next day, Stocke devoted every ounce of energy left in his body to stay awake in each of his classes. When the time came for his detention, Sonja and Rosch offered fond and supportive farewells. Their concern was a bit annoying, in truth. Here Stocke was, eighteen-year-old and nearly in college, stuck in class after school re-transcribing some choice passages extolling the virtues of the Prophet (the text _must_ have been an idea of Principal Hugo's, Stocke was sure of it). He could almost feel his brain matter oozing out of his ears with every passing minute.

Stocke shot out of the classroom the moment the supervisor allowed him to go. He grabbed his things from his locker, then ran out of the school, not slowing down until he'd reached the street where the bookstore was located. Stocke stopped in front of the convenience store he'd spotted the day before, cursing as he looked at his watch. He was already late.

After a bit of deliberation, Stocke went inside, thinking that he could at least find something that would sustain him for a couple more hours; his stomach was already making its displeasure known. He glared at the sparsely filled shelf, then finally chose the one lone sandwich that wasn't all squashed. Stocke threw the poor thing on the counter and searched for his wallet. He was about to pay when he finally caught sight of just who happened to be behind the cash register. The girl's grin spanned the entirety of her face.

"Hey!" Eruca's friend Raynie said. "Long time no see! You're Eruca's bro, right?"

"Yeah," Stocke replied as he handed the money to her.

"Talk about dumb luck!" Raynie said. "Who would have figured we'd be meeting each other out of school, huh?"

"I work at the bookstore next door," Stocke explained. He grabbed his sandwich. "I really should go. I'm already fifteen minutes late."

"Really? When does your shift end?"

Stocke met her gaze, blinking. "At… nine?"

Raynie leaned on the counter. "Wow! Me too! We could totally meet up after work, right?"

Stocke looked askance. "I'm going home directly afterwards. It's a school night."

"I know, I know!" Raynie said with a chuckle. "But we could wait for the bus together—you're taking the bus, right?" As he nodded, she added, "Cool! I could smuggle some snacks from the back store, if you want. My boss would never notice, heh!"

 _Now_ , Stocke was truly mystified. "Uh, okay, sure."

"Great!" She gave him two thumbs-up. "See you soon, then!"

Stocke left the store in a bit of a daze, not sure what to make of the entirety of that conversation. He'd managed to scarf down half his sandwich when he entered Mr. and Mrs. Norton's place. He offered a quick apology to the old couple before eating up the rest of his meagre dinner.

Like the preceding evening, it was a slow night. He chatted with the clients with little enthusiasm, directing them to the objects of their query with forced, feeble smiles. He was rearranging the books in the window display when he spied something from outside the store that made him frown. The Satyros girl from yesterday was looking back at him from behind the glass, her lower lip wobbling. Around her, strangely enough, was an assortment of brightly coloured school bags.

Stocke hesitated for a moment before finally opening the door. "Hey," he told the kid. "You okay, kid?"

In response, she froze and clutched the strap of her neon green backpack a little tighter.

"Right," Stocke said. Maybe he could have tried to come off a little less creepy. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

He was about to slip back inside the store when she spoke up.

"No!" the Satyros child said. "It's okay. You surprised me, I guess." Her lips quivered into a weak smile.

"I wasn't sure if you were a customer or not," Stocke replied. "You can come inside and browse if you want to. You don't have to buy anything."

"Oh…" She shuffled her feet. "I'd like to buy something, but I can't go inside. I promised my friends I'd look after their bags."

Stocke quirked a brow. "They can't look after their own bags? Where are they, anyway?"

"Well, we all stayed after classes to work on the school pageant and then my friends wanted to go for a milkshake." The girl gestured to a nearby dairy bar with her chin. "But I didn't feel like having a milkshake. I'm saving up to buy a book, see? So they told me I could stay here."

Stocke sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Was it really that difficult to carry their bags themselves? How long have they been gone?"

The kid's face darkened. "I don't know. Half an hour, maybe? I wish they'd come back. I'm a bit cold. And tired."

"Your friends shouldn't be treating you that way," Stocke said, blunt. "That sounds like bullying to me."

The Satyros evaded his gaze; her own eyes were starting to well up. "Really?"

"Yeah," Stocke said. "That's what it looks like, anyway." He slowly inhaled before adding, "I know a thing or two about bullying."

The girl knitted her brows together. "You don't seem like the kind of guy to be bullied at school," she said with a sniff.

Stocke's lips twitched in a fleeting smile. "Not at school, no."

Her big green eyes widened a bit. Stocke was surprised that she understood his meaning so quickly.

"You know what," Stocke said, "I have an idea. Since I work here, I can buy books at a discount. Tell me what you're looking for, and I'll get it for you. You can pay me the balance afterwards."

The Satyros girl gasped. "Really? You mean it?"

"Yeah," Stocke assured her. For a moment, he entertained the idea to tell her to just break her promise and leave her friends' bags unwatched. Still, it wasn't his call to make. "Just tell me which book you want, and I'll bring it to you."

The girl clapped her hands together, delighted. "Thanks!" She hopped a bit on her hooved feet. "What's your name?"

"Uh… you can call me Stocke," he told her, a bit bewildered by her sudden inquiry.

"I'm Aht! Nice to meetcha!" She appeared to scrutinize him for a bit. "You're really more interesting than most teenagers I've met, you know!"

Stocke was halfway through the doorway when he spoke back to her, "Just how many teenagers _have_ you met?"

Her giggles were her only reply.

* * *

The evening air was refreshingly cool. Stocke's eyes were immediately drawn to the sky above; the moon cast a soft, silver gleam, while hundreds of tiny stars pinpricked the heavenly canopy. Stocke was so absorbed by the sight that he nearly forgot he had made plans to meet up with Eruca's friend. He leaned by the door to the convenience store and waited for her, passing the time by finding all the constellations he knew.

"Hey!" Raynie said as she finally joined him. "Nice night, huh?" She rummaged through her tote bag and grabbed a couple of chocolate bars and a bag of chips. "Sweet or salty? It's your choice."

"Salty," Stocke said.

"That's good with me! I'm more of a sweet tooth myself." Raynie gave him the bag, then took a bite out of a chocolate bar. "So, you're Ernst, right?"

Stocke shoved a few chips down his mouth before answering, "Yeah. But most people call me Stocke."

Raynie laughed. "Really? That's unfortunate. I mean, think of all the terrible puns I could come up with that name."

By now they had reached the bus stop. Stocke shot her a warning look. "Don't you dare…"

"Hey, don't worry, I'm not that cruel. Besides, I'm beat. I've wasted all my energy re- _stock_ ing the shelves these past few hours."

Stocke groaned. Raynie let out a few horsey guffaws.

"Sorry, dude," she said after she'd stopped snorting. "That'll be the first and last time I'll make fun of your name. I just had to, at least once."

"I'm used to it, now," Stocke said, not without some good humour. "I'll manage."

"I knew you would," Raynie replied. "You look like you're made of stern stuff. Like your sis, I guess. She's a real trooper, that one.

Stocke ate a few more chips. "Mhm." He was pleasantly surprised that she had such a good grasp of Eruca's character.

"So, is it fun to work at that bookstore?" Raynie asked him. "I've seen the two owners a couple of times, they seem like swell people."

"Yeah, they're nice. Place's not half bad, either."

"I guess you don't get saddled with a ton of moronic customers either, huh?" Raynie said. "My opinion on the whole of humanity's dropped dramatically since I've started working at my place."

Stocke snorted. "I don't think I'd be able to stand it, if I were in your shoes. My standards are already too low for that."

Raynie snickered again, nearly choking on her mouthful of chocolate in the process. "At least, the pay's okay," she said. "Hockey gear's really expensive, you know? And I don't want to be a bother to my foster family."

Raynie was smiling as she spoke, but now Stocke found that he could not return her expression. _Her foster family, huh…?_ It would have been rude to pry further, however. "Yeah. I get what you mean."

From the end of the street, the headlights of a bus peered through the evening gloom.

"Well, that's my ride," Raynie said as they peeked at the number flashing above the windshield. She looked at Stocke expectantly.

"Mine'll be here in about five minutes," Stocke told her.

"I guess it's goodbye, then." She gave his shoulder a light punch. "It was great to see you, dude. Til next time."

Stocke shrugged. "See ya. And thanks for the snacks."

Raynie offered him a coy little salute before climbing up the bus. Then, she was gone.

* * *

For some reason, Stocke woke up the next day in a surprisingly good mood. His cheer seemed infectious; when he came down to help prepare breakfast, his mother started singing and sashaying to the horrifyingly catchy tune that was playing on the radio. Eruca was soon giggling and nearly snorting milk out of her nose. When Uncle Heinrich arrived, Sophia waltzed up to the doorway and attempted to drag his sorry behind back to the kitchen for a bit of impromptu dancing. The man did not give in to her demands, but his protests intersected with cackles. Stocke couldn't help but hide a secret grin at the chaotic display. Yes, his uncle really did sound like Igor when he laughed.

Rosch and Sonja were surprised, but pleased that his detention hadn't sunk his spirits so much. Rosch burst in laughter when Stocke told him just what he'd been forced to do ("I remember copying that verse too! Man, my hand hurt like hell for the rest of the week after that!") while Sonja had been touched by what he'd done for the little Satyros girl ("I hope she'll be able to confide in an adult… what a dreadful situation!").

The second period was spent in the library researching things for a class project. The English teacher, student-favourite Raul Gualtierrez, was one of the two faculty members whom everybody called by his first name, the other being the gym instructor in Eruca's year, Viola Aldebrandi. Raul was not one to breathe down his students' necks, so Stocke was mostly left alone to his devices. Despite that, he could not help but feel vaguely guilty as he looked up anything but the materials asked for class. Still, whenever he glanced back to the teacher, Raul only gave him vague smiles before going back to his grading.

So far, Stocke's investigation proved to be fruitless. At first, he sought cases that most resembled the situation at hand, but it soon became apparent that it would be as difficult as finding a needle in a haystack. Stocke then narrowed his search to the area where was located the high school that his father had attended—Granorg's Royal Academy for Gifted Youngsters, one of the most prestigious institutions in the Granorgite capital. Yet, once again, nothing came up.

After a while, Stocke opted instead to look up the mythological figures that seemed to form the basis of his friends' Personas. Tyr, of course, was an easy one to find. The old Imperial folklore had many warrior divinities, chief among them the one-armed god of heroic deeds. Sonja's Hlín was a bit more obscure. Most described her as a deity of protection and compassion, but some deemed her to be only an avatar of the Imperial pantheon's mother goddess, the wise, grief-stricken Frigg.

Stocke opened tabs on all the old Imperial deities he could find. He was so deeply engrossed in a description of a god named Heimdallr that he noticed only at the last possible second that someone was reading over his shoulder as well.

A startled Stocke spun in his chair, scowling as he realized just who was standing behind him. "Uncle Heinrich. I thought I told you to stop doing that."

"Stop doing what?" the man said, his voice barely above a whisper. Of course, he did not have the decency to get rid of that infuriatingly smug smirk of his. Did he enjoy creeping up on people? Stocke was starting to think it was the case.

Stocke drummed his fingers on the desk. It was no use to explain to the man why such behaviour might come off as annoying in typical human societies. Uncle only heard whatever he wanted to hear, anyway. "We're in class right now. I'm kind of busy."

"Oh, I was just looking for some documentation myself," Heinrich said. "Besides, the library is a public place, isn't it? Not to mention, but I'm also a teacher. I can come and go whenever I want."

Stocke fought back a groan, instead choosing to remain silent.

Uncle Heinrich's gaze went up and down the screen. "Ancient Imperial mythology, eh? I didn't know you had an interest in the subject."

"It's for an essay," Stocke lied.

"I see." Uncle Heinrich looked at the two webpages that currently showed on Stocke's computer. "Heimdallr and Hod. The all-seeing sentinel and the blind murderer. You couldn't have picked two more different gods than that, hmm?"

"Hod isn't a murderer," Stocke muttered. "He was tricked."

Heinrich gave a low chuckle. "He still threw the spear that killed Baldr." His features showed a hint of melancholy. "Poor Baldr… his only contribution to the Imperial myths is dying so the other gods can kick off the end of the world."

Stocke shivered despite the warmth of the library. "It's Loki's fault for manipulating Hod. Hod didn't want to kill his brother."

Heinrich's face was stuck in a bizarre, almost grotesque expression. "…well, you could say it's just one interpretation amongst many."

This time, Stocke could not stop a sigh from escaping his mouth. "You really should be going. We're not allowed to speak in the library, remember? I don't want to bother everyone else."

"Alright, alright, I'll go," Heinrich said; despite Stocke's rudeness, his tone was still amiable. "Good luck with your schoolwork."

"Mm." From the corner of his eyes, Stocke watched the man's retreating back. Then, recalling the roadblock his earlier investigations had encountered, he suddenly got out of his chair.

"Uncle, wait!" Stocke followed after the man. "I just remembered something I wanted to ask you. This might come a bit out of nowhere, but… my dad went to the Royal Academy when he was younger, right?"

Uncle Heinrich's remaining joviality immediately dissipated. "He did, yes."

"What about you? Do you remember anything weird about your high school years? Like, creepy, unexplained stuff?"

Heinrich tightened his jaw. "I did not go to the Royal Academy. My parents sent me to a public school. Niflheim High. A miserable, underfunded place, it was. And now I'm sorry, but I must really go."

Uncle's harsh, _bitter_ tone left Stocke unable to reply. The other students in the library were starting to stare. From his desk, Raul stood half-risen from his seat; he frowned as Heinrich all but stormed out of the library.

Stocke scrambled back to his chair, uncomfortable with the attention now directed at him. _What the hell was that all about?_ He hadn't known his uncle had gone to a different school than his father. His grandparents had counted among the wealthiest of Granorg's elite: why had they sent their youngest son to an apparently terrible public school while his brother had enjoyed what was touted as the best education in the whole country?

Stocke's hands hovered above the keyboard for a bit. On a lark, he typed in the name of his uncle's high school in a search engine. He was ready to write off this new attempt as another failure when several results popped at the top of his browser. The blood drained from his face as the meaning of the words that appeared on his screen sank in his mind.

 _Granorgite public school closed after failed investigation_ , one story declared. Stocke noted the date. It had been written twelve years ago. _School officials caught up in a scandal after several unexplained deaths_ , another website claimed. Stocke's breath hitched. He scrolled down to another article.

_Five high-school students died this morning at Granorg Central Hospital, one week after being found in comatose states on school grounds—physicians are left mystified as for the cause of death._

Stocke leaned back into his chair, head spinning. _What is this supposed to mean?_ He thought about the two kids who had already fallen prey to the Shadows' sway. _What's going to happen to them?_ In his mind's eye, he saw their family, their friends, waiting anxiously by their bedside, hoping, _praying_ for them to open their cold and heavy settled in his stomach as he imagined instead what would happen once the jagged lines representing their heartbeats would straighten into a flat stroke, what would happen once the steady _beeps_ of the monitors would die down to a stretching, dull note.

Teo and Lippti's warnings crept from the back of Stocke's mind. _Your true enemy is human_ , they had told him. Was there a link between the current attacks on the students of St. Noah's and the events from twelve years ago? If so, was Stocke's unseen enemy the one who had caused those five deaths?

Stocke swore under his breath. Of course, things couldn't have been easy. Of course he had to go against a possibly homicidal maniac.

 _And of course I had to get involved,_ Stocke thought wryly, _because that book_ had _to drop into my lap somehow._

No wonder Stocke's Persona was based on the unluckiest bastard in the whole of the Imperial pantheon. It was simply a reflection of his master being the biggest sucker this side of the continent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Why, yes, the owners of the bookstore happen to be the Alistellian equivalents of Bunkichi and Mitsuko from Persona 3. I loved these two so much, they were so adorable...


	8. Arcana VI - The Lovers

_"There is both joy and wonder in coming to understand another."_

_Nyx Avatar, Persona 3._

* * *

 "You sure you're not just overreacting?" Sonja told Stocke soothingly. "I mean, yes, these five deaths are freaky, but…"

"Maybe there's no link between this case and what's happening now, huh?" Rosch added. "And even if there was, it doesn't mean that we're going up against someone with five murders under their belt… right?"

Stocke groaned, passing a hand through his hair. The constant clamour of the other students as they spoke and laughed and shouted was starting to weight down on him. He'd always hated the noisiness the school cafeteria. "I don't know. It was just… this feeling that I had."

Sonja's smile wavered "Maybe you're right. It's just, well, that I really hope that you're _wrong_."

"I know," a dejected Stocke said.

"You could always needle your uncle for some info," Sonja proposed. "These events happened after he graduated, but maybe he still knows something."

Stocke scoffed. "No. Not happening. If he ever catches a whiff of what's happening to me, I'll have him breathing down my neck the whole year."

"What about the two kids who were attacked by the Shadows?" said Rosch. "They've woken up yet?"

Sonja leaned on her steepled hands. "No, I don't think so. The first kid is at my parents' hospital. Her name is Mimel Desjardins. She's still in middle school…" Her voice had lowered to a horrified whisper.

"What about the other one?"

"He's called Bram Crow," said Stocke. "I've talked to his brother a couple of times. There's nothing unusual about these two, as far as I can tell."

"The attacks happened before school started, right?" Sonja pondered. "Why were they on school ground even though the semester hadn't begun?"

Stocke leaned back into his chair with a sigh. "Sonja, do you think we could visit that girl? I don't think we'd learn anything, but…"

"It's worth a shot." Sonja replied with a shrug. "Maybe Hlín can tell me something new."

The first bell rang out, interrupting their conversation. Stocke, Sonja and Rosch gathered their things in silence amidst the chaos of their surroundings. Across the cafeteria, Stocke caught sight of his sister. Next to her were her friends Marco and Raynie. The black-haired girl was gesturing wildly, making Eruca laugh in response. Stocke's features softened for a bit. Soon, he lost sight of them in the thickening crowd.

Math class was a chore to slog through, and so was phys ed. Coach Garland was well loved by the student body, but he just could not understand that Stocke was a lost cause when it came to team sports. Stocke have never saw the appeal in throwing a ball around. He was looking forward to the next semester, where they would finally switch from soccer to track and field. At least it wouldn't be expected of him to work on his social skills then.

After the end of the last period, Stocke made a beeline for the most beaten-up pick-up truck in the school parking lot. Rosch had bought his car from Sonja's grandfather; the old man had lovingly kept the ancient thing in working order for several decades. In a show of goodwill, Mr. Silverberg had also paid for the driving aid that allowed Rosch to travel the roads safely. Now that he was retired, it was Sonja who continued her beloved _opa'_ s meticulous maintenance. She loved the venerable vehicle as much as he did—or perhaps even more.

Stocke's two friends were already waiting for him next to the car.

"You sure this is a good idea?" Rosch asked as they all climbed inside. "We're not family or anything. Are we really allowed to go in her hospital room?"

"We just have to be sneaky," Sonja said. "If there's any trouble, let me take care of it."

Rosch shot Sonja a bewildered look through the rear-view mirror. "Wait, you want us to break the rules? You chew me up every time I just _think_ about not handing in my homework. Who are you and what did you do with our Sonja?"

Stocke crossed his arms in front of his chest, a corner of his mouth quirking in a half-smile. Sonja huffed a little.

"Just drive," she told Rosch dryly.

"Yes, ma'am!" Rosch said, with a touch of unnecessary zeal.

* * *

The lobby on the first floor had been decorated with a homely touch, making the hospital a more welcoming place than it truly had the right to be. Cute, huggable plushies were lined in a neat row behind the front glass of the gift shop. A corner of the waiting room boasted brightly coloured walls that were covered with friendly-looking cartoon characters. A few children were seated there; they played in eerie silence under the exhausted gazes of their parents.

The clerk at the help desk presented a wide smile to Sonja as she walked up to him. Stocke did not return the guy's amiable expression, although Rosch managed a feeble grin. Soon, thanks to Sonja's prodding, they obtained the number to Mimel's room and indications as to how to get there. Stocke kept his head lowered as they travelled to their destination. Next to him, Sonja moved stiffly, uncharacteristically quiet. Thankfully enough, none of the hospital staff seemed willing to pay them any mind.

Stocke's eyes flicked from one room number to the next. He quickened the pace when he noticed they were getting closer. That was a mistake; he was so absorbed by his task he rammed headfirst into someone as he turned a corner. Stocke bit down a curse, muttering an apology instead. His unfortunate victim only came up to his chest. The chubby, bespectacled boy adjusted his kitten-eared woollen hat with a grumpy expression before looking up at Stocke. Something that resembled alarm settled on his features.

"Marco?" said Stocke as he recognized the kid. "It's Marco, isn't it?"

Marco had gone red as a fire hydrant. "Y-Yeah. I remember you. You're Eruca's brother, r-right?"

Stocke noticed he was carrying a plush mouse. Sonja's expression softened at the sight of the toy.

"F-Funny seeing you here," Marco stuttered. "What are you guys doing?"

"We're, uh, visitin' someone…" Rosch mumbled back.

"What about you?" said Sonja.

Marco clutched his plush toy against his chest. He hadn't met their gazes once. "I was leaving, actually," he replied in a squeak. "Uh, see you at school, I guess?"

And before Stocke could reply, the boy had scuttled away.

"He's one of Eruca's friends, isn't he?" Sonja asked Stocke. "I think I saw him a couple of times at school."

"Mh- _hm_ ," Stocke replied laconically.

"Poor kid," said Rosch. "I wonder what's gotten him so freaked out."

"And why he's such in a hurry," Stocke added. He eyed the door closest to him. It bore the room number they'd all been looking for. "We should make this quick. The visiting hours are nearly over."

Sonja nodded and pushed open the door. Without a word, Stocke and Rosch followed her inside, the latter nearly bumping his head on the low doorframe.

The curtains had been drawn, leaving the room in only the faint light of a flickering fluorescent bulb. The small, slight form of a sleeping girl was laying in the hospital bed, her pallid skin stretched tautly across her cheeks. Her hair was dyed a vivid shade of green; still, upon closer look, Stocke could see quite a bit of brown showing at the roots. Her chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. Nothing unusual appeared on the EKG monitor, the faint sound of her heartbeat beeping in a steady rhythm. Sonja puffed out a loud exhalation through her nose.

"Nothing seems out of the ordinary," was her prognostic. "Although…" She inched closer to the girl. "I—well, Hlín—kind of sense something…"

"What is it?" said Stocke.

"It reminds me of… of a Shadow," she elaborated, lower lip trembling. "Oh my god… there's… there's a Shadow _inside_ of her!"

"Goddammit!" Rosch growled.

"Can we get it out?" Stocke said sharply.

Sonja shook her head slightly. "I… I don't know… It doesn't feel like the other Shadow I've seen. My Shadow was so… chaotic. _Aggressive_. This one… well, it's as if it just wants to stay put. Like it's dormant, but not dead."

Gently, she took one of Mimel's hands. Behind Sonja, Stocke could spy a shimmering silhouette. Hlín hovered a bit above the ground, her form barely discernible in the gloominess of the room.

"So, the Shadow's not doing anything?" asked Rosch. "Why is she still in a coma, then?"

Sonja did not answer. Her face grew whiter by the second as she continued to gaze at Mimel, mute with horror.

Stocke moved to touch her shoulder. Before he could open his mouth and say something, however, the door slid open. A nurse looked up from her clipboard. She frowned as she caught sight of the three teenagers shuffling awkwardly around the hospital bed. In the blink of an eye, Sonja was flashing her a syrupy smile. In contrast, Rosch looked like he'd just been caught in the middle of some sordid crime. Stocke's expression remained stone.

"Visiting hours are over," the nurse said, her voice tinted with suspicion. "I'm sorry, kids, but I'm going to ask you to leave."

In a scatter of little blue lights, Hlín disappeared. Sonja gave a nervous little giggle. "I-I see. We were about to leave anyway. S-Sorry about the inconvenience…"

"It's no big deal." A sad little smile played on the nurse's lips. "It's good that she gets people comin' over. Poor dear…"

Stocke's eyes were drawn to the figure sunken in the mattress. A lump formed in his throat as guilt washed over him. Of course he could not tell the nurse, but in truth they had not come here to offer Mimel some much needed company. Stocke silently apologized to the sleeping girl for the deception.

They left Mimel's room in uncomfortable silence. Sonja walked ahead of Stocke and Rosch at a brisk pace, her face still flushed with shame and misery. Stocke threw occasional glances at Rosch. The latter's face mirrored Stocke's own worry.

After the three of them had gotten into Rosch's truck, Stocke finally addressed Sonja.

"So, what else have you found? You saw something else through Hlín, right?"

Sonja seemed to mull over Stocke's words as Rosch started the car.

"I wouldn't know how to describe it," she told Stocke. "The Shadow's definitely doing something to her, but I don't know what it is." She massaged her temples and groaned. "And now my head's _killing_ me…"

"We'll get you home so you can get some rest," Rosch said as he drove them out of the hospital parking lot.

Sonja gave another peeved grunt. "This would be easier if I just knew what I was looking for! Ugh, this is like looking for a needle in a haystack!"

Her words were met with more silence on Stocke and Rosch's parts.

"That nurse didn't see Hlín," Stocke said suddenly.

"Yeah," Rosch's fingers drummed along the edges of the steering wheel. "That was weird. Figured she'd say something about some giant lady made of light, huh?"

"I'm not surprised," Sonja added. "I mean, no one ever noticed the Shadows at school, right?"

"It's true," Stocke confirmed. "I guess it's the same for Personas."

Sonja sighed. "Well, that's a nice thing to know, but that doesn't tell us anything useful, now, does it?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Rosch said. "I just think we should take a break for now. My brain's turning to mush."

"Yeah," Stocke agreed. He closed his eyes, sensing a weariness settling in his bones. "I'm the same. Let's worry about this tomorrow."

* * *

Still, the next day brought nothing new to the table. The lesser Shadows continued to prowl the school grounds, never showing any hint that they might be under the sway of a more powerful member of their kind. Still, at the end of the day, Stocke made a careful patrol of the surrounding area. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

It was only on the next morning that they finally obtained some much needed answers.

The moment Stocke caught sight of Sonja before the first bell rang out, he knew something was amiss. She spent the first two periods in an obviously inattentive mood, leaving Stocke ill at ease. When came lunch break, she dragged Stocke and Rosch out to the school courtyard with no explanation, ignoring their interrogations in a rude manner that was very unlike her. They sat down in a secluded corner, far from the prying eyes of the other students.

"I, uh," Sonja began, "I've looked into Mimel's case a bit and…"

"Looked into Mimel's case?" said Stocke. "What do you mean?"

Sonja looked askance. "I, well, I've taken a peek into her medical files—"

Rosch's eyes popped a little. "You _what?_ Sonja, you could have landed into some big trouble!"

"I know, I know," Sonja replied, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. "But desperate times call for desperate measures, right?"

"So, what does it say?" Stocke asked.

Sonja wrung her hands together. "There's… _nothing_. Nothing's wrong with her. She didn't suffer from a lack of oxygen or a stroke or any other medical reason that would explain why her nervous system just shut down. Her blood tests and CT scans show nothing abnormal. Physically speaking, there's nothing wrong with her. And yet, through Hlín I could sense that she was… fading away. As if the Shadow was… was…" She could not complete her thought.

"…as if it was feeding on her?" Stocke ventured.

Sonja looked downward, a choked sob escaping her lips. Rosch patted her arm. He'd gone abruptly pale as well.

"Still, her brain activity remains very high," Sonja managed after a while. "And I got the impression that she was… _dreaming_ through all of this."

 _Dreaming,_ Stocke thought. For some reason, he remembered the vacant, faraway look in Sonja's eyes when she'd been all but certain that her deceased brother had come back to life. His stomach gave a lurch at the memory.

"That's all I could find," Sonja finished in a weak voice.

"It's already a lot," said Rosch. "Damn! To think that could have happened to us!"

"We need to be careful, then," said Stocke, "to make sure it doesn't happen to anyone else." He glanced significantly at his bag, where, squeezed between a manual of integral calculus and a thick treatise about Alistellian history, the White Chronicle could be found. "Keep an eye out for people acting weird. It'll probably be the first sign that a time loop is about to start."

Rosch and Sonja both gave a grim nod. Around them the noises of typical school life went on, the other students unaware as always of the dark events unfolding within their midst. Stocke sent them a sweeping look. This time, who would be the unfortunate victim to fall prey to a dark, twisted mirror of their deepest desires? He paused on each face, feeling a knot forming in the pit of his belly.

 _To get the answer to that question,_ Stocke mused _, I guess that means I've got to mingle more_. Immediately as the thought crossed his mind, he sighed and buried his head in his hands.

 _Dammit_. _We're screwed. We're so screwed._

* * *

"Ernst! Ernst! Over here!"

Stocke dragged his feet to where his sister was waiting, far away from the crowd that was amassing outside the school entrance. Next to Eruca, Raynie was waving enthusiastically. Marco, on the other hand, was distinctly looking anywhere but in Stocke's direction.

"Heya!" Raynie said when Stocke reached the three of them. "It's good to see you, Stocke! How are you doing?"

"Fine, I guess," Stocke said.

"Rosch and Sonja didn't come with you?" Eruca inquired.

"They had to stay after school, because…" Stocke racked his brain to find a suitable excuse that wasn't, _'They're patrolling the place to see if anyone is possessed by an evil shadow monster.'_ Nothing came to mind. "Because… reasons."

Eruca blinked owlishly at him. "…huh?"

Stocke stifled a grunt of annoyance. He had wanted to accompany Sonja and Rosch on their search, but his two friends had all but bullied into leaving when classes had ended. Sonja had told him it was because she was worried he was not getting enough rest these days. Stocke knew instead it was because they didn't want his socially inept self to get in the way of their investigation.

"So you'll be coming home with Uncle and me, then?"

Stocke agreed in a mutter. Sonja and Rosch had promised to keep him updated on the situation at hand, but it didn't mean he was happy to be so useless.

Raynie flashed the two siblings a grin. "Then, I guess it's goodbye," she said. "Marc, you free tonight? Or d'you have practice with the band?"

"Huh?" Raynie's question seemed to have caught Marco by surprise. Until then, he had been staring forlornly to the side. "Um, n-no, I don't have anything planned…"

"Great! Do you think you could help me study for Prof. Heiss' next test? The guy's a friggin' _sadist_ , I tell ya." Raynie grinned stupidly at Stocke and Eruca. "Uh, I meant no offense, you guys."

"None taken," Eruca replied, while Stocke fought the urge to say, _'You don't know half of it.'_

"Do you want to go to your place?" Marco asked Raynie. "Or would you rather go to mine?"

"Yours," Raynie answered. "My foster mom's doing some kind of fundraising event tonight for charity and stuff, and I'd rather not get in the way."

"…your _foster_ mom?" Eruca said in a puzzled tone. The moment the words left her lips, she clasped her hand in front of her mouth, her cheeks growing crimson. "Oh, s-sorry, I didn't mean to pry…"

Raynie snickered. "Pff, don't sweat it! It's no big deal!" Next to her, Marco pinched his mouth, his brows coming together in a knot.

"Well, let's get going, Marc!" Raynie eventually said, cutting through the tension now hanging in the air. "See you tomorrow, Eruca! And I guess we can catch up with each other on your next shift, huh, Stocke?"

"If you say so," Stocke told her.

"Good luck on your studying!" Eruca added. When Marco and Raynie were out of hearing range, she sent Stocke an inquisitive look. "What's that about your next shift?"

"She works at a store next to Mr. and Mrs. Norton's place," Stocke explained. "Her shifts often end at the same time as mine."

"Oh, I see. She hadn't told me." After a while, Eruca bit down her lip in a sheepish manner. "I guess I have to study for Uncle Heinrich's exam too, huh? I did well on the first test, but…"

Stocke snorted. "You could just ask him for some insider's tips. I'm sure he'd be happy to help. Gleeful, even." The man had certainly been eager to offer his aid when Stocke had been among his students. It had been annoying, even.

"Ernst, I don't think he'd let me _cheat_."

"Speaking of the devil…" Stocke jutted his chin at the parking lot, where they could see a certain familiar silhouette heading for their uncle's car. "…here's our ride home." His lips nearly twitched into a mischievous smirk. "Remember to ask him about exam questions. He'll tell you everything. Really. I'm not kidding."

Eruca elbowed him in the ribs. "Shut up," she grumbled. But there was a smile playing along the edges of her mouth as well.

* * *

"So, nothing, huh?"

"Nope," Rosch said as he slumped over his desk. "Nothing, nada, zilch."

"People gave us plenty of funny looks, though," Sonja said, her lips stuck in a forced smile.

"Yeah, well, that's probably on me," Rosch griped. "You're plenty popular, Sonja, so I guess the other kids don't find it weird if you start asking around. Me and Stocke, we're kind of nonentities, socially speaking…"

"Rosch, don't you think you're exaggerating _just_ a little?"

"Let's talk about this later," Stocke muttered, cutting off Sonja before she could finish her thought. Selvan, the social studies teacher, was starting to write down things on the chalkboard. "Class's about to begin."

This time, Stocke summoned all of his remaining energy to stay focused on Selvan's lecture. Still, whenever the man passed by Stocke's desk (which happened quite often, Stocke was displeased to find), his face always twisted in a sneer, almost as if there was some unpleasant odour floating in the air. Stocke never met the teacher's gaze, unwilling to bring himself more trouble. Besides, he would have never managed to top Sonja's fine glare. If looks could kill, then Selvan would have died a thousand times over under her formidable assault.

Her display of loyalty was a silver lining in otherwise another boring day. Once more, Rosch and Sonja volunteered to stay after school to keep watch over the local infestation of Shadows, while a rather grumpy Stocke left for work.

When he stepped inside the bookstore, Stocke was greeted by a child happily calling out his name. Little Aht bounced over to him, her arms overflowing with books. Since their meeting almost two weeks ago, she had started to hang around the bookstore every day after school. Mr. Norton had jokingly said he'd soon have to hire her as an additional employee. Still, Aht never really stayed for long; after a while, a luxury car with tinted windows would always come to pick her up in front of the store.

Aht kept on babbling as the clock ticked. Stocke only listened to half of what she was saying; she was going on and on about some cartoon she'd started watching.

"And they all wear costumes, so no one knows that the monster hunters are actually a bunch of high-schoolers, but then one of the villains finds out about my favourite character's secret identity, so—"

Periodically, Stocke grunted in assent to indicate that he was following her rather convoluted story. Cartoons nowadays appeared to have grown rather complex, it seemed.

"Hey, Stocke…?" Aht suddenly said, startling him out of a daze. He hadn't even noticed she had stopped rambling. "If you were living a double life fighting a bunch of monsters, would you tell me? Would you trust me with the secret?"

Stocke goggled at her. Her comment was a bit too much on the nose for comfort. "… _what?_ "

Aht's gaze was fixed on him in an unsettling way. "Would you?"

"That would defeat the purpose of a secret identity, wouldn't it?" Stocke answered. "Where does this come from, Aht?"

She laughed; the sound was too high-pitched, too shrill, to be genuine. "Oh, you know, I was just wondering! Sometimes, I wish real life was more like a book or a cartoon. Wouldn't it be great if we could go on an adventure and stuff?"

From outside came the sound of a car honk. Aht spun her hooved feet toward the entrance of the shop. The black car was parked in front of the bookstore. One of the tinted windows was lowered, showing a sunglasses-wearing Gutral sitting behind the wheel.

"I gotta go!" said Aht. "It was fun speaking with you, Stocke! Say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Norton for me!" After one last grin, she all but hopped out of the store.

Not a lot of customers showed up after Aht's departure. Still, when Stocke closed up shop, he was feeling weary to the bone. When he stepped outside, the cold evening air whipped at his face, sapping the air right out of his lungs. Perhaps Sonja was right, Stocke realized. Maybe he really needed to get more rest.

As expected, Raynie was waiting for him at the bus stop, sipping a bottle of coca as she sat on the sidewalk.

"Hey," she said simply as Stocke slumped down next to her. "You look beat, man."

Stocke's reply was a mumbled, monosyllabic noise.

"I feel ya," Raynie said, nodding. "I'm the same. High school is beating my ass black and blue. Thank goodness I've got Marc, or I'd never be able to pull through otherwise."

A low chuckle rumbled in Stocke's chest. "You two seem close enough."

"Heh. The band geek and the dumb jock girl. Who would have thought? He even roped me into playing Dungeons & Dragons a couple of times, can you imagine?" Unexpectedly, Raynie then sighed. "He was the only friend I had in middle school. I haven't lived in this city for long, y'know? I moved in just last year when they put me in my current foster home."

Her good humour was marred by a frown. Still, in the span of a blink, it was gone, and she was smiling again.

"At first, all the cool kids wanted to be my friend, since I was new and stuff." Raynie snorted. "Didn't last for long. Two weeks after I transferred, I got into a huge fight with some assholes who'd been bullying Marco. As a result, everyone started to think I was some raging psychotic bitch. But I got Marc as a friend out of it, so I'm really the winner here."

Stocke's mouth formed a fleeting half-smile at this candid statement.

"So he's like the brother I've always wanted, even though he gets on my nerves, sometimes."

"That's how it is with siblings," said Stocke. "Speaking of someone who's got a little sister."

"You're lucky," Raynie blurted out. "To have a sibling, I mean."

Even in the dim light of the street lamps, Stocke could tell that her cheeks had coloured up a little.

"It's a bit lonely, having just one friend, though," Raynie admitted. "So I'm glad to have met you and your sister." She shifted a bit on her seat, looking suddenly self-conscious. "Tell you what, dude, this week-end, the cinema club at school is putting on a B-list horror movies marathon. There's gonna be some of my favourite classics. Marc's not into that sort of thing—hell, if he shows up at school, I bet it'll be to practise his clarinet like a good, proper nerd. So, uh, do… do you want to go with me? That kind of flick gets boring fast if you're not in good company."

Stocke frowned. He wondered why she was asking him, of all people. "I don't know. I've got some school stuff I need to catch on."

"Oh. Okay." Raynie bowed her head slightly; her bangs fell all over her face, making her expression impossible to read. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make things awkward."

Stocke didn't know what to answer. A sudden and inexplicable sense of guilt twisted his guts. He scratched the back of his head, his cheeks warming up as well.

"Uh," Stocke eventually said. "I can give you a call if I change my mind?"

In the distance, two buses were approaching. Raynie jumped to her feet, her hands gripping the straps on her bag rather tightly. Stocke noted that her face was still quite red.

"See you at school, then," she said in an unusually hoarse voice as the first vehicle came to a stop in front of them. "Have… have a nice night, Stocke."

"You too," Stocke mumbled. He climbed into the second bus in a stiff motion, head abuzz with a slew of bizarre, contradictory thoughts.

* * *

The next morning, Stocke's brain was still annoyingly fuzzy. To make matter worse, the moment he and Eruca got out of the teachers' parking lot, Raynie scurried over to them, Marco trailing behind her like a sullen and silent puppy.

"Good morning, you two!" she said brightly. "Sheesh, Stocke, you look like you've been hit by a bus. You sure you're up to go to school, man?"

"Didn't sleep well," Stocke explained in a croak. "Listen, about tomorrow…"

Raynie cocked her head to the side. "Tomorrow? What about tomorrow?"

Marco's gaze went heavenward. "Is this about that stupid movie marathon? The one you couldn't shut up about?"

"Did you find someone to go with you?" Eruca asked.

Stocke opened his mouth to reply, but Raynie interrupted him.

"Yeah, my brother and my sister say they'll come. My mom wanted to go too, but she works on Saturdays. She doesn't look like it, but she sure loves her gorey movies!"

Stocke felt the blood drain from his face. _Huh…?_

"Your brother and sister?" said Marco. "Which ones?"

"The two eldest, the ones who are in college. Like hell my parents would let my younger brother and sister to go see R-rated movies. They're not even out of elementary school yet!"

Stocke took an involuntary step backward. _No, no way…_ His legs had grown limp as a pair of noodles. _Damn_. _I gotta find Rosch and Sonja fast_.

"Ernst?" asked Eruca. "Are you okay? You don't look so good…"

Stocke swallowed down his initial burst of fear and said in a thick voice, "I have to go. I promised Rosch and Sonja I'd be meeting them soon."

Under their bemused gazes, Stocke hurried inside the school. Swearing under his breath, he looked over the heads of the other students, hoping to see Rosch's large frame standing out in the crowd. The only attention Stocke managed to get was sadly not the kind he wanted to attract. The Shadows that normally clung to the sides of the entrance hall were peeling off the walls. Dozens of bright yellow eyes fell upon Stokce as the creatures slithered toward him.

Stocke's breath filtered through his mouth in a low hiss. Stiffly, he grabbed his cell phone and dialed Rosch's number, ignoring the Shadows seeping through the students entering the school in troves.

"Hey," was all he said after Rosch picked up, "I think I found what we were looking for. But I might have picked up a few stragglers along the way." Cold sweat trickled down his brow as he carefully went back the way he came. "Let's meet up outside before they all decide to jump me."

* * *

"We're gonna miss the first period, you know?" Sonja told Stocke as she leaned against Rosch's truck. The three of them had all agreed to meet in the school parking lot; Stocke had been relieved to find that the Shadows hadn't been willing to follow him so far from the main school building. "God, this is the first time I've played hooky in my life. What would my mother say?"

"We've got bigger worries," Stocke gently admonished her. "I think the Shadow we've been searching for is possessing my sister's friend."

"How do you know?" Rosch asked. "Did one of these weird time loop things happen again?"

"No," said Stocke. "but she was acting kind of fishy just now. Raynie kept talking about her siblings." He took a deep breath to keep himself steady. "Except I don't think she has any. She told me several times she lived in a foster home.

"She might have siblings in other foster families," Sonja countered. "It's rare, but it's not unheard of. Or maybe she was talking about adopted siblings?"

"Maybe," Stocke conceded, "but I think it's a bit of a stretch."

"We should keep a close eye on her, then," Rosch said. "Do you think we could ask your sister for help?"

Stocke rubbed the bridge of his nose. "We could. But then I'll be dodging her questions for the next month or so. Eruca's not dumb."

"It's better than to let this poor girl handle this on her own," said Sonja. "And you said that the Shadows were being more aggressive than usual too, didn't you, Stocke?"

Stocke nodded. "Yeah. The only way we'll get them off our backs is to ignore them. So act natural."

Rosch and Sonja exchanged a bewildered look.

"I mean it," Stocke said. "We should get back and act as if everything's going as usual. Besides, Dias is teaching the second period. You know he'll throw a hissy fit if we skip his class."

"Do you even have a plan?" Rosch said, his voice heavy with incredulity. "Beyond marching back to a place infested with frickin' _monsters?_ "

"First off, let's see if this day keeps looping," Stocke told him. "If not, then I know how we could get hold of Raynie without having the whole of the student body getting in our way. We'll deal with her Shadow then."

"How?" Rosch and Sonja said simultaneously.

Stocke ran his thumb over the buttons on his cell phone. "You guys feel like binging on a couple of B-list horror movies tomorrow morning?"

* * *

The alarm clock blared next to Stocke's ear, snatching him out of the pleasantness of sleep. Immediately after silencing the hateful object, he stumbled out of bed to reach for his cell phone.

 _Saturday, 8:11 A.M_., the letters and numbers read on the screen. Stocke flopped back on his bed with a sigh of relief. There had been no loop; Friday had come and gone, and today was the start of the week-end.

Stocke quickly got dressed and rushed downstairs to grab a little something to eat. In his hurry he nearly stepped on poor Musket's tail. Through his mouthful of toast, Stocke addressed a jumbled apology to the poor hissing kitty.

"You're already up?" came Eruca's voice. Stocke's sister was curled up in a sofa with a book in one hand and a cup of steaming tea in the other. "What's the world coming to?"

"I've got to be at school soon," Stocke replied. "I promised your friend Raynie that I would go with her to that movie marathon."

Eruca gawked at Stocke. Behind him, Stocke could hear the _scritch-scratch_ of wheels scraping against the wooden floor; he turned and saw that his mother, still sitting in her computer chair, had rolled out of her office. She was looking at Stocke with her mouth dangling open in an unflattering way. Stocke cursed under his breath. Of all the times she could have chosen to wake up early on a Saturday morning...

"You're going on a date?" Sophia squealed.

"No. I'm going to see a movie."

"With a girl," Sophia said. "You're going to the movies with a girl."

"Does it make any difference?" a deadpan Stocke replied. "I've gone to the movies hundreds of times before with Rosch. Friends go see movies together. That's a thing."

"You're friends with Raynie?" asked Eruca, the same time their mother grabbed her face with both hands and exclaimed, "You _are_ going on a date, omigosh!"

"I barely know her," Stocke said, "so no, I guess I wouldn't call her a friend. An acquaintance, maybe." Obviously, he could not tell his mother that he was actually trying to see if the acquaintance in question was the host of a parasitic monstrosity.

Sophia jumped out of her chair to give Stocke a light swat on the shoulder. "Are you calling your date only an acquaintance? You cold, cold man!"

Stocke squinted his eyes at her. "That's how it is. I'm not about to start making things up."

Eruca appeared unsatisfied with his answer. "Is that why you asked me yesterday to keep tabs on—"

Stocke silenced his sister with a frantic look. He grabbed his coat and slid his wallet in his back pocket. "I should go. Don't wait for me for lunch and supper." Before they could place another word, he opened the door and headed outside.

"You treat her good, you hear me?" Stocke heard his mother call out from behind.

 _I will, don't worry_. Stocke wrapped his red scarf tighter around his neck, cursing the typical coldness of an October morning. _That is, unless she_ really _is possessed by a soul-sucking abomination._


	9. Arcana VII - The Chariot

_"The Chariot represents victory for the individual, but only a momentary one."_

_Edogawa-sensei, Persona 3._

* * *

The moment he set foot in the bus, Stocke sent a message to Rosch and Sonja.

 _There's trouble_ , he wrote. _I might have found our next Shadow. Meet me at school as soon as you can._ When he arrived to his destination, Stocke rushed out of the bus without even thanking the poor indignant driver. He made for the school entrance with long, nervous strides, cursing as he spied the forms of several lesser Shadows lurking just outside the doorway.

Worse of all was the teenage girl lingering through their midst, absentmindedly tapping her foot as she waited for a certain somebody's arrival.

"Raynie!" Stocke called out, as loud as he could. He had to get her away from the Shadows—without drawing their attentions to himself, preferably. "Hey, Raynie!"

Raynie caught his eyes across the distance and grinned. "Hey!" To Stocke's great relief, she immediately went toward him, seemingly unaware of the monstrous creatures watching her from behind. "It's great to see you, dude!"

"Yeah," Stocke said as she joined him in the parking lot. "Uh, good morning, I guess." He racked his brain, trying to find the adequate way to explain just what the hell was going on. Eruca would know what to say, but Stocke was nowhere as eloquent as his sister. He suppressed a groan. Bluntness was out of the question, Sonja kept telling him. He hated that she was right.

"I like your scarf," Raynie said, eyeing the garment in question. "It suits you."

Stocke blinked, his mind momentarily going blank. "What?"

"The colour, uh, I like it. Red looks good on you."

Stocke only stared at her, brows slightly furrowing. In response, Raynie bit down her lip and broke eye contact.

"So, uh," she said, after a brief, awkward silence, "you wanna go inside? I think we're the last ones to get here. We'll be late if we don't hurry."

"Wait," Stocke answered, "My friends Rosch and Sonja are coming too. They'll be here soon."

This time, it was Raynie's turn to look at him in confusion. "Really? Like, a double date kind of thing?" She scratched the back of her head. "Uh, okay. I guess that's fine too."

Again, all manner of intelligent thought seemed to flee from Stocke's brain. "Double what?"

"You know what? Forget about it." Raynie chuckled nervously, tucking a strand of black hair behind one ear. "So your friends are fans of bad horror movies, huh? I couldn't get Marc to come. That's why I invited you instead."

"Yeah," Stocke said. "So you told me before."

"Wonder if he's finished composing that arrangement of his," she wondered aloud. As Stocke quirked a brow in a silent inquiry, she went on, saying, "He's got a crush on a girl who used to hang out with us in middle school. He keeps staying after classes to make an arrangement out of her favourite song so they can play together like the cute band nerds that they are. Isn't it like the sappiest thing ever? I love it."

Stocke could feel his expression softening a bit. "Yeah."

"It's plain she likes him back, but he didn't believe it when I told him." Raynie sighed. "Some guys are just that clueless, huh?"

Was it Stocke's imagination or was there a second meaning hidden behind her statement? "If you say so."

Thankfully, a familiar pick-up truck arrived at the parking lot at the same moment, saving Stocke from what was sure to be another bout of embarrassing silence. Rosch and Sonja climbed out of the car; Stocke fought an urge to repeatedly hit his forehead with his palm when he noticed just they happened to carry.

"What in the everlasting _fu—_ " said Raynie.

Before she could finish, Stocke walked over to the two newcomers. "Is all of that really necessary?" he said, motioning to the golf club, baseball bat and hockey stick his friends had brought.

"You told us there was trouble," Rosch said. "Sonja said it'd be better to bring weapons."

" _Sonja_ did?" Stocke peered down at her, and Sonja gingerly waved the hockey stick and the baseball bat she held in her hands. She was pale as a sheet, but there was a look of grim determination in her green eyes.

"Wait, whoa, hold on," said Raynie. "What kind of trouble? Why do you guys look like you're about to go on a hunt for zombies?"

Rosch opened and closed his mouth in quick succession. It seemed he had just realized Raynie was just in front of him. "Oh crap…"

"Ah! Um…" Sonja hesitated, similarly at a loss for words. "You're Eruca's friend Raynie, right? Nice to me you!" She managed a smile, but Raynie only responded with a scowl.

"What is that all about?" she asked Stocke. "Is this some sort of dumb prank? 'Cause this isn't funny, y'know?"

A sliver of annoyance had slipped in Raynie's voice as she spoke. The lesser Shadows amassing by the school entrance turned their masked faces toward her, their mist-like forms thickening into something more solid. They began to slither in her direction, prompting a curse from Stocke.

"Oh, to hell with all this," he said in half a growl, marching toward the monstrous stragglers. A now familiar blue light flared around him. Subtlety was overrated, in his honest opinion.

With the sound of breaking glass, Baldr sprung into existence, sending a wave of fire in the direction of the Shadows. A corner of Stocke's mouth twisted into a joyless grin as all the creatures burned to a crisp. Behind him, Raynie let out a loud, colourful streak of swears.

" _Holy frickin' shit!_ " Soon, Raynie had rushed to Stocke's side, panting and pointing at the fiery figure hanging about Stocke with a shaking finger. She gave another gasp when Baldr disappeared in a scatter of blue sparks. "What the _—_ how did you _—what the hell—_ "

They were soon joined by Rosch and Sonja. "Stocke!" Rosch said. "What the hell are you _doing?_ Did you really have to bring her into our mess?"

Stocke shrugged. "I wanted to see if she'd been the one who had gotten possessed this time. I'm starting to think I might have been wrong."

"P-Possessed?" stuttered Raynie. "Whaddaya mean, _possessed?_ "

"Stocke, you idiot, look what you've done!" said Sonja. "Did you have to scare her half to death? You owe her an apology, mister!"

Stocke glanced to the side, slightly castigated. "Okay. Sorry about that, Raynie."

"I don't need an apology, dude! I need an explanation! What the hell was that glowing person thingie? Where the hell did those black blobs at the school entrance come from? They all just appeared out of nowhere!"

"The monsters are called Shadows," Stocke explained, placidly. "The thing I used to kill them is called a Persona. Mine's named Baldr."

"How can you be so damn chill about all that weird shit?!" Raynie held her head with both hands, grabbing fistfuls of her hair. "Goddammit! This was _not_ how I imagined my morning would go!"

"Me neither," Stocke muttered.

Sonja was glaring at him with a fierceness that would melt down glaciers. "How about you start from the beginning, you big dummy? Maybe that would help her understand."

Stocke sighed. And so, under Rosch and Sonja's insistent gazes, he laid out the whole story, starting from his first encounter with the Shadows inside that alleyway. By the end of his tale, Raynie's mouth was hanging open in an unflattering way; still, at least she seemed less inclined to pummel him to oblivion now.

"So you think I'm possessed by one of these things 'cause I made a comment about having siblings?" she said, dumbfounded.

"I was under the impression that you lived in a foster family," Stocke said.

Raynie folded her arms over her chest. "I do! I might have been talking about my foster parents' kids, you know?"

"Yeah." Stocke's shoulders drooped a bit in embarrassment. "I guess so."

"Just so you know, there _is_ one of these things inside the school right now," Sonja told them, pointing to the entrance with the hockey stick.

"Shit," Rosch said. This time, it was his turn to go white as a ghost. "Really?"

Sonja gave a grave nod. "Or so Hlín tells me."

"Then," said Stocke, "it could be anybody who came to the cinema club's event."

"Well," Rosch continued, "whoever it is, we have to find them, and quick! Before anyone gets hurt!"

"Exactly," Stocke said. "Sorry, Raynie, but I think you should go home."

Stocke's declaration snapped Raynie out of her daze. "What?! Dude, you're all about to march straight into a nest of frickin' monsters! Don't you think there's strength in numbers?"

"You don't have a Persona," Stocke replied. "It's best if you sit this one out."

Raynie threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. "Fine!" Her voice held traces amount of anger, but her face showed nothing but fear. "You guys better show up at school next Monday, you hear? Don't you dare die on me!"

"Don't worry. Dying's never been in my plans." Stocke jabbed a thumb toward Rosch and Sonja. "I think these two would never forgive me otherwise."

Stocke could not deny the brief burst of warmth that spread through his chest when his words were met with a fierce, "Damn straight!" from Rosch, and a resolute nod from Sonja. He offered a weak smile to Raynie before saying, "See you soon, then."

* * *

The school was empty when Stocke and the others rushed in, their Personas hovering close behind.

Empty of people, that is. There were plenty of Shadows lying in wait for a hapless victim to snatch.

Before Stocke could set Baldr upon them, the amorphous blobs twisted on their spots, settling into new shapes. Now, it was a group of three beasts resembling lions who prowled the premises; their manes were matted and caked with dirt, while their golden masks were engraved with Imperial numerals depicting the number seven. One other Shadow had instead become a tall, feminine figure with a blue mask bearing the number eight. It turned an expressionless, delicate visage toward the intruders, as if silently assessing the new threat, tugging on leashes fastened around the feline Shadows' necks.

A sort of haze filled the air, thick as seaside mist. Still, beside the addition of the beastly creatures making their way through the rows of lockers, the atrium looked the same as ever, showing none of the strange distortion displayed by the gym or the science lab when Rosch and Sonja's Shadows had taken hold of the school. Stocke frowned; perhaps they were too far away from the source of all their current troubles?

A faint light shimmered around Sonja, and Hlín stared forward, her expression hidden by the veil fluttering in front of her face. "The Shadow is deeper into the school," Sonja said, confirming Stocke's suspicions.

"We gotta take care of the small fry first," Rosch said, twirling the golf club in one hand. "C'mon, Stocke! Let's get this over with!"

"Yeah." Stocke wrapped his own hands around the baseball bat tightly. "Sonja, you got any hint as to how to deal with those guys?"

As she opened her mouth, two of the lion-shaped Shadows leaped forward, roaring. Tyr barreled toward them, shield first, to block their assault. One banged headfirst on the metallic surface while the other merely sidestepped, evading the blow. Fangs bared, the Shadow instead made for the trio hiding behind the three Personas. Thankfully, Baldr interceded, slashing at the monstrous feline. With a shrill cry, the Shadow tumbled down, a large gash now splitting part of its mask in two.

The other lion growled, dark fur bristling with animosity. The tall humanoid Shadow, however, only eyed Stocke and his friends without budging an inch; its blank stare was more chill-inducing than the beasts' feral rage, in a sense.

"They're strong against physical attacks," Sonja said. "But I can't get a sense of what they're weak against... it's all such a blur."

"Alright, let's try some magic then," Stocke said.

He willed Baldr forward, calling for his powers across their invisible bond. In response, the Persona pointed his sword at the two nearest Shadows. A circle of flames burst from under them, and the beasts shrieked under the assault. A second later, and a bolt of lightning came down upon them, finally putting them out of their misery. Stocke sent a fleeting half-smile to Rosch. The latter swatted the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, panting. Spells did not come as easily for Tyr as they did for Baldr, it seemed.

Stocke's relief was short-lived; behind him came a high-pitched, feminine scream. Heart in his throat, he spun on his heel, only to find that another lion Shadow had materialized near Sonja, standing between her and the school entrance.

Far away from Baldr and Tyr's reach.

"No!" cried out Rosch, just as Stocke clenched his teeth, commanding Baldr to head toward her. Sonja stumbled backward, the hockey stick slipping from her grip. Dread settled in the pit of Stocke's stomach, cold and hard, when he realized the Persona would not reach her in time.

And then the school doors burst open, and a slim figure rushed in, startling the Shadow enough so it halted in its tracks. In a swift move, the dark-haired girl slid next to Sonja, grabbing the hockey stick. Letting out a loud slew of curses, Raynie swung the makeshift weapon immediately after, hitting the Shadow's mask with a resounding ' _whack!_ '

Both Rosch and Sonja cried out in surprise, but Stocke could not allow himself the luxury to be startled. Before the Shadow could regain its bearing, he had Baldr set the creature aflame. Stocke let out a sigh of relief as the beast flickered away to nothingness. Still, there was no time to waste: two other Shadows remained. The feminine figure lifted one hand, and a faint light shimmered around the beast's form.

"Oh!" Sonja suddenly said. "She's protecting the other Shadow from physical and magical attacks!"

"Wait, what?" Raynie exclaimed, while Stocke only said, "Let's get this one out of the way, then. Rosch, focus on defense, I'll take care of it."

"Alright!" Rosch replied.

Tyr placed himself nearby Sonja and Raynie, his shield gleaming. Baldr, for his part, flew toward the taller Shadow. The remaining beast leaped into his path, but the Persona ignored it, merely evading its attack. Baldr directed his fiery sword toward its companion, drowning the humanoid creature in flames.

"Now!" Stocke told Rosch. "Here's our chance!"

The poor beast was stuck in an unenviable position, right between the combined forces of Tyr and Baldr. In a manner of seconds, it had been hacked to pieces and pierced through and through. Stocke let out the breath he had been holding when it finally disappeared from sight.

"Holy shit!" Raynie said as she approached Stocke. "I can't believe it. Frickin' _monsters_ inside our school… it's like we're inside a videogame…"

"Raynie," Stocke said, "what are you doing here? You could have been seriously hurt."

She rolled her eyes. "I came to help you out, you moron! You ever watched a horror movie, dude? Splitting up is the worst idea in the history of everything. Beside…" For a moment, Raynie's gaze clouded slightly. "I've got this bad feeling I can't shake. I can't explain it, but I know something horrible's about to happen. I can't walk away from this, I just can't."

"Well, she might have not a Persona, but she's still more of a fighter than me," Sonja piped up. "Thank you for the help, by the way. Your swing is very impressive."

"Aw, no need, it was nothing _—_ "

"Uh, girls?" Rosch said. "Should we get going? Our work's not done yet."

Stocke frowned. "I still think it'd be safer for Raynie to just go home." In fact, he would rather for all of them to leave and let him take care of everything, but of course this very sensible idea would never come to pass. Stocke's friends were much too stubborn for that.

"Actually, the safer option would be to call the police," Sonja said. "But something tells me it's not something you would even want to consider, right, Stocke?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "So we can all be labelled as lunatics since no one save for the four of us can see these things? Yeah, how about no?"

"Then, how come Raynie's able to see 'em?" said Rosch. "She doesn't have a Persona, remember?"

"I get the impression that Shadows live on a separate plane of reality from us," Sonja replied. "A world that exists just atop of ours. They sort of pull us into that world when we come into contact with them. Maybe by summoning his Persona in front of her, Stocke made Raynie became aware of it well? That's just a theory, mind you."

"That nurse at the hospital didn't see Hlín when you summoned her," Stocke reminded her. "There's something else, I just don't know what it is just yet…"

"That's good and all," said Rosch, "but we can all talk about this while walking, y'know? There's a huge monster sucking the life out of some poor bastard ahead."

Stocke sighed. "Alright, fine. Let's go. Raynie, stick close to us."

She gave him a weird little smile. "I'm not about to wander off, if that's what you're worried about." Again, an odd, fleeting look passed on her face. "Let's go," she said, abruptly. "If we stay here, I feel like I'm gonna go mad. There's something…" She let out a small noise of irritation, then fell silent.

Stocke could not help but frown as he examined her expression. "Alright. Let's see what's waiting for us deeper inside."

* * *

And the deeper they went, the stranger their surroundings became. At first, Sonja managed to guide them relatively well through the ever-growing succession of hallways, sensing with pinpoint accuracy the position of the greater Shadow lying in wait at the centre of this maddening maze. But as they advanced, she became less sure, as if something was obscuring Hlín's vision. Thankfully, only a few of the monster's minions came to hamper their progress. Still, by the time they had reached what was supposed to be the school auditorium, Stocke felt drained of all energy, even though every Shadow they had met had easily fallen to Baldr's flames (or, as much as he hated to admit, to Raynie's trusty hockey stick).

"You've spent too much of your magical power," Sonja said to him, her brow creasing. "You and Rosch, you really need to rest up a bit."

Stocke shook his head. On the walls, a series of strange photographs depicting a group of people had started to show. Their faces were all blurred, but somehow the images brought to mind the sappy movies Stocke's mother watched all the time.

"No," he said, gesturing to the door with his baseball bat, "we have to get going."

"Well, I think it's a bad idea," Sonja replied. "Don't you think the same, Raynie?" When the latter did not reply, she frowned, looking at Raynie with worried eyes. "Raynie?"

Again, Raynie said nothing. She walked over to the auditorium door, as if in a daze. With lethargic movements, she pushed it open. Something clenched painfully in Stocke's chest; without a word, he followed her, knowing well what was coming next.

The stage and the rows of chairs could not be found. Instead, the auditorium had taken the form of a quaint-looking living room—or at least, it would _be_ , if it wasn't for the sheer sense of wrongness hanging in the air. A dying fire crackled in the hearth, bathing the whole of the place in an eerie light. Toys and other knickknacks littered the floor in varying states of disrepair. The wallpaper was peeling off in some places, revealing a rusted, metallic surface underneath, one that oozed a strange black goop.

Worse of all, Stocke found, were the family portraits that covered every other inch of the walls. This time, one face was recognizable among the group of people enclosed within the frames.

"Holy shit," Rosch said, in almost a murmur. "Uh, Stocke? Why is Raynie in all of those pictures…?"

Stocke did not answer, only pressing his mouth into a thin line as he watched Raynie taking in her surroundings with a blank stare.

Sonja laid a hand on Raynie's arm. "Raynie? Are you alright?"

She gave a little start when the door behind them snapped close. On the walls, the shadows grew in size, twisting and twitching under the flickering firelight. With empty eyes, Raynie stared ahead, frowning slightly as a voice softly broke the silence weighing down on the four teenagers.

 _Don't lie to them,_ the voice said, with a mother's tender tones. _You've been alone for so long. Why bother pretending?_

Raynie blinked, as if she'd just been snapped awake from a spell. "H-Huh? W-What's going on? Who's speaking?"

"Raynie, don't listen to it, she's—" Sonja began.

"Wait," Stocke said. "We need Raynie's help to defeat her Shadow. And she needs to hear what it has to say or else it'll go berserk."

Raynie looked at Stocke, an uncharacteristic vulnerability softening her features. For a moment, he felt sick for even suggesting that she go through the same harrowing process that had granted Rosch and Sonja the use of their Personas.

"What do you mean?" she told Stocke. "I don't understand…"

 _You can't hide it_ , the voice continued. _I can help you. I can make you belong._

"Belong?" The spark of awareness began to dim from Raynie's eyes. "Yeah. Maybe I could belong somewhere…"

The shadows on the wall deepened to pitch black, and dark smoke scattered everywhere. Raynie took a step forward. Rosch and Sonja both cried out in alarm as a pair of golden eyes appeared from within the black mist. The Shadow watched Raynie's approach almost hungrily.

Stocke felt cold all over. Maybe letting Raynie talk to that thing wasn't such a good idea after all.

"Maybe I could be more than just a nobody," Raynie said, in no more than a whisper.

"What?" Sonja said in response. "Oh, Raynie, no…" She followed after her, raising her hand to touch Raynie's arm once more.

And Raynie's Shadow let out a shrill, ear-splitting shriek.

Something leaped out of the dark cloud, something big and lean and _fast_. The figure barreled across the room on all fours; the only thing Stocke could register before he had the sensible thought to summon Baldr was the sight of a pair of crazed, golden eyes locked on him.

Thankfully, Rosch's reflexes were sharper than Stocke's. Tyr sprang out of the blue light, rushing to meeting the Shadow with his shield. Stocke nearly stumbled off his feet from the violence of the collision. Tyr struggled, only managing to deflect the creature from its intended course. Claws scratched against the floor as the Shadow came to a stop a little farther away. It spun around, panting, long fangs showing from underneath the broken mask obscuring the top portion of its face. The creature appeared like a strange combination between a mangy feral dog and an underfed, skittsh lioness. It shook on unsteady paws, whines and growls leaving its mouth in equal part.

Raynie's eyes were very large, dark and unfathomable. "A stray," were the two words that came out of her lips as she contemplated her Shadow. "Is that's what I am?"

Stocke turned sharply to face her. "Of course not," he said. In response, her Shadow snarled. It paced around the room, possibly pondering its next move. Then, it went on the offensive once more.

Bolts of lightning and pillars of flame dogged its every step, but the Shadow evaded them with ease. Baldr's sword only slashed empty air whenever he tried to close in on the creature. Tyr, of course, could not hope to match its maddened pace; instead, Rosch kept him close so the Persona could guard them from the beast's razor-sharp claws and fangs.

Stocke could feel the sweat pooling from under his bangs. He was starting to feel dizzy. "Sonja! What kind of weakness does this thing have?"

Sonja huddled close to Hlín, one of her arm draped around Raynie's shoulder. The latter seemed unaware of the chaos unravelling all around. "I don't know!" Sonja said. "I don't think she's weak to any of the elements!"

"Aw, c'mon, give me a break!" Rosch shouted above the clamor of battle. So far, Tyr had managed to stop each of the Shadow's lightning-quick assaults—but with every passing second his parries became a little slower, a little more imprecise.

Sonja bit her lower lip, knitting her brows together. "Stocke, do you think you could anticipate her movements? You can't catch her or wear her out, but if you could always try to pull her into a trap."

"Yeah," Stocke said. He had thought the same. He had to squint to keep up with the Shadow as it tore through the room; oh, his head hurt so _much_ , but he had to keep his eyes peeled on the damn thing, just in case he could glean a pattern out of the anarchy of its movements.

Baldr could not keep up with it, no. He had to trick the Shadow somehow, and to do that, Stocke had to find a way to catch it off guard.

"I need a diversion," he ground out, low enough so only his friends could hear. "Anyone got an idea?"

Rosch turned to Stocke, opening his mouth in order to answer. That single, seemingly inconsequential action nearly cost them everything. Tyr's vigilance slackened only for the merest of moments—but it was all the Shadow needed. It lunged at the Persona with a roar, ripping through the crimson armour with extended claws.

Rosch howled out in pain, keeling over. His Persona exploded in a burst of blue light. Stocke's mouth went dry as the creature's gaze fell upon him. Baldr soared forward to intercept the creature in its path, but the Shadow only swatted the red-clad warrior aside with the swipe of a paw. Stars danced in front of Stocke's eyes from the pain. Through the blur, he saw the beast charging toward them, canines bared, fur bristling.

And then, a trembling, unsteady figure met the Shadow head-on. Stocke grit his teeth, stifling a curse, as he watched Raynie raise the hockey stick in the air, as if a simple piece of wood could stop the monstrous being currently bearing down on her.

…except, by some miracle, it _did_.

The Shadow skidded to a halt before it could reach her. Instead of advancing further, it paced and panted, something resembling confusion settling in its golden gaze. A strange little whimper filtered from its mouth.

Raynie stood her ground, face twisting with disgust and anger. "Yeah, you piece of shit! That's what I thought! You're all talk, huh? You're just hot air and not much else!"

Stocke was not one to squander such a chance. He called Baldr, and the Persona responded instantly to his summons, slashing at the Shadow with his sword. The beast shrieked, struggling to stay upright as the attack connected with one of its hind legs. Baldr showed no mercy even in the face of the Shadow's pain. He pressed on with the offense, hacking and piercing until the creature could only back away, a dark mist oozing out of its wounds like blood. The world wavered in front of Stocke's eyes, and his head was swimming, but he had to keep going, he had to destroy the damn thing before it unleashed more hell, he had to—

"Stocke!" Sonja suddenly cried out, startling him. Immediately, Baldr stayed his hand, and his sword remained hovering above the Shadow's wheezing, prostate form. "Stocke, that's enough! That Shadow, it's not just any monster! It's part of someone!"

Her words were like being doused with a bucket of ice-cold water. Stocke found Raynie's gaze and realized with a pang that her eyes were full of tears; in contrast to her earlier bravado, she seemed barely able to stand on her two feet.

"Sorry," he croaked. "I wasn't thinking straight. I…"

Raynie shook her head a little. "Nah, s'alright. I don't really understand what's going on, but I get it. That thing was out of control. I guess I need to take a good hard look at myself, huh?"

"It's not your fault, Raynie," Stocke said.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, dude, I'm not about to wallow in self-pity." Raynie was sniffing, but her tone was light, almost optimistic. "That's not the kind of person I am. I know there's a lot of shitty stuff that happened in my life, but there's some good too. I won't allow the world to beat me down, y'know?"

As she spoke, her Shadow crawled closer, head hanging low, tail tucked between its legs. Stocke tensed, and Rosch scrambled to his feet with a curse, aided by Sonja. Still, Stocke could sense no animosity, no fear, from the beast. Its eyes were fixated on Raynie, who was smiling despite the water welling up in her eyes.

"Raynie, when you called yourself a stray, what did you mean?" Sonja said softly.

"Heh." Raynie's grin became a little rueful. "I don't know anything about my birth parents. I've been shuffled from foster family to foster family ever since I was little. It's all I've ever known. Those people, they've always been super nice to me, really, but…" She dropped her gaze, and her Shadow approached a little more, standing over her in a way that Stocke could only call protective. "It never really _clicked_. There's something missing. And once I turn eighteen…"

"You'll be out of the system," Sonja said. "You're afraid you'll be on your own, without anybody to help."

Raynie shrugged. "I'm sure my current foster family would help. They've got tons of money. They wouldn't leave me hanging. But…"

 _But there's more to supporting your kid that just giving them financial security_ , Stocke thought.

"So there's a part of me that always wonders if my life would have been different with my real folks around," Raynie said. "I keep telling myself it's not healthy to dwell on things like that, but I guess I was more scared than I thought. Else, that _thing_ wouldn't have come out of me."

Rosch was leaning heavily on Sonja. "Hell," he said. "I think you're being awfully positive about the subject. I know I'd be scared shitless in your shoes."

"Yeah?" Raynie said. She wiped her tears with one hand, her grin growing more genuine. "Nice to know that's just not me being a wuss."

Behind her, the Shadow was bathed in a soft blue glow. Sonja let out a little gasp when it transformed, becoming a tall figure wearing a silvery set of armour over a blue tunic. Raynie's Persona twirled a long spear in her hands with astounding skillfulness. The only traits that remained from her previous form were a pair of feline ears coming out of her helmet and long, lithe legs resembling a lion's limbs.

Slowly, Raynie turned to gaze at her Persona. The Persona responded to her grin with a sort of mock curtsy. Then she was gone.

"She's lovely!" Sonja said. Her own Persona shimmered beside her. "Hlín says her name is Sigrún."

"Sigrún, huh?" Raynie appeared giddy as a little kid. "I love it! Finally, I can help you guys bust some heads now!"

"You were already plenty efficient just with that stick of yours!" Rosch said with good humour. "Glad to have you aboard!"

Raynie responded with a nervous chuckle, her cheeks now touched with a shade of pink. Still, Stocke could not share his friends' joy and relief. Again, he had dragged someone else in his mess. Stocke sighed, grabbing his head with one hand. His stomach was queasy, and he felt even more light-headed than before. He did not want to celebrate Raynie's victory, only to lie down and maybe sleep for a week.

"Hey, Stocke?" came Rosch's voice. He and Raynie were now looking at Stocke, worry evident on their features. "You okay, man? You don't look so good."

"Yeah, maybe we should get going," Raynie said. "I totally feel I could use like, a nap or ten."

Stocke was about to agree when there was a cry of alarm from Sonja. Next to her, Hlín spun to face the door, a sense of distress radiating from her.

"Guys," Sonja said, her voice shaking a bit. "It's not over yet. There's still another Shadow inside the school."

* * *

"Do they always come in pairs?!" Rosch exclaimed as they rushed to where Hlín had sensed the Shadow.

"How should I know?" an equally exasperated Stocke replied.

"I bet it's deliberate," Raynie said through grit teeth. "They're trying to wear us out, the filthy bastards."

Stocke was pretty sure that Shadows were unable to form such a coherent strategy, but he said nothing, only pressing on instead. Soon, the four of them had reached a part of the school Stocke had never visited: the room where music classes were usually given.

"The music room?" Raynie said. "But… no one is supposed to be in here… unless…"

A sense of foreboding crept over Stocke as he watched the blood drain from her face. He pushed the door open, and the four of them burst into the music classroom, flanked by their Personas.

All the chairs in the room had been pushed toward the walls, save for one, placed right in the middle of the place. A boy was sitting in the wooden seat. Above him, a dark figure lingered, its long, finger-like appendages draped around his chest. Raynie let out a whimper.

"Marc?" she said, tentatively taking a step forward. "Can you hear me? Marc, look at me, please."

Marco made no sign that indicated he had heard his friend. His gaze never left the Shadow that had taken hold of him; the dark eyes were glassy, unfocused.

" _Marc!_ " Rayne shouted. In response to her outburst, her Persona edged forward, spear at the ready.

Marco whipped his head to look at her—or rather, at her Persona. Above him, the Shadow did the same, golden eyes gleaming with a sort of morbid curiosity that sent goosebumps prickling across Stocke's skin.

"Raynie?" Marco asked. "What are you doing here?"

"We're here to save you!" Raynie said, despairingly. "Marc, get over here, please!"

"Save me…? From what…?"

"There's not time to explain," Rosch said. "Just believe us when we say you're really, _really_ in danger right now."

Raynie held out her hand. "Yeah! Just do as we say, 'kay? There's no need to be scared."

Stocke frowned. It was all so similar to the time Sonja had been possessed by her own Shadow… but something felt _off_. Stocke just couldn't put his finger on what it was just yet. Sonja grabbed one of his arms, fingernails digging into the fabric of his jacket. Usually, she would have been the first to reach out to Marco and comfort him—except she had _not_. Dread churned in the pit of Stocke's stomach.

Marco's gaze came to rest on Raynie's outstretched hand. "Why? I'm fine. I don't need your help." The Shadow tightened its hold on him, and Marco leaned back into the chair, closing his eyes, almost as he was about to fall asleep.

" _No!_ " screamed Raynie. She broke into a run, her Persona following closely behind. Stocke, to his great shame, felt like his feet were rooted to the ground. He could only remain helpless, _useless_ , as he watched the horrible events unfolding in front of his eyes.

The Shadow dissolved into a dark mist that swirled in the air, stretching and expanding until it filled the whole of the room. Marco went stiff in his chair, eyes snapping wide, mouth opening in a silent scream.

Then the black fog swept downward with the speed and the force of a hurricane. Marco did not cry out, did not even utter a sound as the Shadow poured inside his eyes and mouth. His body thrashed in his chair, but an invisible force seemed to pin him down to his seat.

And Raynie kept screaming and _screaming_.

A mere few seconds later, and it was over. Marco's body gave a final shudder, then went slack, slowly starting to slide from the chair. Before he could touch the ground, Raynie threw her hockey stick aside to hurry toward him, catching him in his fall.

"Marc! Marc, Marc, _Marc_ …" Now, tears were streaming down her cheeks in earnest. "Marc, open your eyes, _please_ , wake up, talk to me…"

Sonja brought her hands together in front of her mouth. She was crying as well.

"S-Sonja," Rosch said, "the S-Shadow… what did it just do…?" His tone was fearful, disbelieving; he almost sounded like a little child asking for help.

In response, Sonja only shook her head, a louder sob escaping her lips. She reached for Stocke, and instinctively, _numbly_ , he pulled her into a hug.

"Stocke," Raynie said, imploringly. Stocke flinched at the sound of his name, but he could not move a muscle, let alone form a coherent sentence. "He's breathing, and I-I can feel his pulse, but… why isn't he waking up, S-Stocke? W-What's wrong with him?"

Stocke opened his mouth, but his voice strangled in his throat. He was so, _so_ cold. Raynie was speaking, but it seemed to him all he could hear was the blood thumping in his ears.

"Stocke? Tell me he's alright, tell me he's gonna be fine, _p-please!"_

Stocke could still not answer. He felt as if he was stuck in a place far, far away from here—a place that seemed more real, in a sense, than the world of horrors currently perceived by his physical senses. A place where he was deaf to Raynie's pleas, a place where he was blind to the terrible sight of her cradling her friend's inanimate (not dead, not dead, _not dead_ ) body.

A place where he had not witnessed a kid his own age being _devoured_ by the personification of all of his biggest fears and regrets.

Stocke's legs buckled from under him. He was out cold even before his head could touch the ground.


End file.
